“I should make sure that he doesn’t try to drive himself home. ’ ‘Yes,’ agreed Lucilla excitedly, ‘and she has been telling us how much of a friend she was to your mother. It felt too good. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her. He saw her young and graceful back as she descended from the carriage, severely ignoring him, and recalled a glimpse he had of her face, bright and serene, as his train ran out of Wimbledon. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. “I hope that whatever your plans may be, you will give me the opportunity of seeing something of you now and then. ” She nodded.
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