"Helefteverythingjustasitwas,"Bonamymarvelled."Nothingarranged.Allhislettersstrewnaboutforanyonetoread.Whatdidheexpect?Didhethinkhewouldcomeback?"hemused,standinginthemiddleofJacob'sroom.
Theeighteenthcenturyhasitsdistinction.Thesehouseswerebuilt,say,ahundredandfiftyyearsago.Theroomsareshapely,theceilingshighoverthedoorwaysaroseoraram'sskulliscarvedinthewood.Eventhepanels,paintedinraspberry-colouredpaint,havetheirdistinction.
Bonamytookupabillforahunting-crop.
"Thatseemstobepaid,"hesaid.
TherewereSandra'sletters.
Mrs.DurrantwastakingapartytoGreenwich.
LadyRocksbierhopedforthepleasure….
Listlessistheairinanemptyroom,justswellingthecurtaintheflowersinthejarshift.Onefibreinthewickerarm-chaircreaks,thoughnoonesitsthere.
Bonamycrossedtothewindow.Pickford'svanswungdownthestreet.TheomnibuseswerelockedtogetheratMudie'scorner.Enginesthrobbed,andcarters,jammingthebrakesdown,pulledtheirhorsessharpup.Aharshandunhappyvoicecriedsomethingunintelligible.Andthensuddenlyalltheleavesseemedtoraisethemselves.
"Jacob!Jacob!"criedBonamy,standingbythewindow.Theleavessankdownagain.
"Suchconfusioneverywhere!"exclaimedBettyFlanders,burstingopenthebedroomdoor.
Bonamyturnedawayfromthewindow.
"WhatamItodowiththese,Mr.Bonamy?"
SheheldoutapairofJacob'soldshoes.