"Very well," he said; "good-bye, Smither. Look after him, and if he
should say anything at any time, put it down, and let me know."
"Oh I yes, Mr. Soames; I'll be sure to do that. It's been such a
pleasant change to see you. Cook will be quite excited when I tell her."
Soames shook her hand and went down-stairs. He stood for fully two
minutes by the hat-stand whereon he had hung his hat so many times.
'So it all passes,' he was thinking; 'passes and begins again. Poor old
chap!' And he listened, if perchance the sound of Timothy trailing his
hobby-horse might come down the well of the stairs; or some ghost of an
old face show over the bannisters, and an old voice say: 'Why, it's dear
Soames, and we were only saying that we hadn't seen him for a week!'
Nothing--nothing! Just the scent of camphor, and dust-motes in a sunbeam
through the fanlight over the door. The little old house! A mausoleum!
And, turning on his heel, he went out, and caught his train.