Fyne stood by her side, as in those old-fashioned photographs of married couples where you see a husband with his hand on the back of his wife's chair.

And they were about as efficient as an old photograph, and as still, till Mrs.Fyne started slightly.

The street door had swung open, and, bursting out, appeared the young man, his hat (Mrs.Fyne observed) tilted forward over his eyes.

After him the governess slipped through, turning round at once to shut the door behind her with care.
Meantime the man went down the white steps and strode along the pavement, his hands rammed deep into the pockets of his fawn overcoat.

The woman, that woman of composed movements, of deliberate superior manner, took a little run to catch up with him, and directly she had caught up with him tried to introduce her hand under his arm.