"Windmill . . . And daddy's name's Windmill, and mother's name's Windmill, and Ruby's name's—"
The train stopped with a jolt, its grinding of wheels drowning the child's voice. Derek was thankful; he felt that he could stand no more reiterations of that name.
He had helped the woman into the 'bus. He had sent Snailem in it, too, and had paid the fares of all four. Then he had set out on foot himself, determining to telephone to Windmill and prepare him for the coming visitation. Although he pitied the dowdy little wife, some loyalty of sex made him pity, still more, the erring husband. Poor Windmill! who had fainted in the field the day before because of the heat, and who was probably now washing and dressing, after a hard day in the fields, in preparation for his evening walk with Miss Carss, all unconscious of the weary Nemesis that was rolling towards him in the 'bus.
Derek called up Grimstone from the village store. Phœbe's voice came thickly over the wire as though she were eating something. Windmill? Oh, he was out. The usual, she s'posed. He'd hurried right off after tea. She had a terrible sore throat and would Mr. Vale fetch her a few peppermint bull's-eyes from the shop?
Derek hung up the receiver and bought the bull's-eyes from the shop-keeper's wife, who grunted as each one dropped from the jar, as though it hurt her. Disconsolately he left the shop and walked slowly towards Grimstone. His one idea now was to loiter till the worst should be over when he arrived. He could picture that little woman making a pretty scene. He put a bull's-eye in his mouth and sucked it meditatively, feeling rather as he used to at eight, when he had a mind to be late for school.
As he was passing the graveyard he heard a rattle of wheels behind him, and, turning, saw the 'bus lumbering up.
