On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. Mirages, over which he was constantly throwing bridges which were wasted efforts, since invariably they spanned solid ground. And as he walked by her side they began a wrangle that was none the less pleasant to Ann Veronica because it served to banish a disagreeable preoccupation. At length, about an hour before dawn on the second day—Sunday—having spent the early part of the night in watching at the gates of the robbers' sanctuary, and being almost exhausted from want of rest, she set out homewards. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it.
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