"But why are you crying? Surely there must be something! . . ."
"No, it's nothing. . . . It's nothing . . . I think. . . ."
She leant against him. She told him how the dread horror was clutching at her. She was very much unstrung and she felt as if something was going to happen: a great sorrow, a disaster, an accident, she didn't know what. . . . She poured out her anxious soul to him, nestling in his arms:
"It's too silly, Addie. I must try to be calmer."
She became calmer under his steady gaze. Oh, what delightful eyes he had! As she looked into them, she became calmer:
"Addie . . . your eyes . . ."
"What about them, Mummy?"
"They are growing lighter in colour: they are serious, as always, but they're becoming lighter. . . ."
"What's the matter with my eyes now?"
"They've become grey."
"Oh, nonsense!"
"Yes, they're turning grey, blue-grey. . . ."
He laughed at her a little. She remained with her head on his shoulder, looked into his eyes. She became quite calm, now, gave a last, deep sigh:
"Dear, listen . . . listen to it blowing. . . ."
"Yes, Mamma."
"I'm afraid of the wind sometimes . . ."
"And sometimes you love it."
