Fortescue raised his eyebrows and assumed a light-comedy expression. His firmness never deserted him till his old master, Mr. 5. His anger gave way to grim humour and he thrust towards them, leaning heavily on his cane. She left them and went back to Sebastian, never uttering a word about her visit. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. Only how had they missed him? Were they imbecile? Or perhaps the mists had concealed him from them. “It’s bound to be all right,” she said.
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