Looking along the platform, Miss Silver shook her head and dismissed the vision, for there, advancing to meet her, was a massive figure in thick checked tweeds and a rather battered hat on the back of her head. Not Cissy Christopher, who had been dead and gone for many a year, but quite undoubtedly Cecilia Voycey, flushed, bustling, hearty, and full of the kindest welcome.

Before she knew what was going to happen Miss Silver was being kissed.

“Maud! I’d have known you anywhere! Well, of course we’re both a few years older-we won’t say how many. Not that I mind. I always say being elderly is the best part of one’s life. You’ve got over all the tiresome things like being in love, and wondering what’s going to happen to you-you’ve made your friends, and you’ve made your life, and you go along very pleasantly. Hawkins-here!” She reached out sideways and grabbed a passing porter by the arm. “This lady has got some luggage. Tell him what it is, Maud, and he’ll bring it out to the car.”

As they drove away from the station yard in the small car which appeared to be a very tight fit for its owner, Mrs. Voycey was loud in her pleasure at this eagerly awaited reunion.

“I’ve been counting the days-just like we used to when it was getting on for the end of term. Funny we should have lost sight of each other for all these years, but you know how it is-you swear eternal friendship, and at first you write reams, and then you don’t write so much, and then you don’t write at all. Everything’s new, and you meet a lot of different people. And then, of course, I went out to India and married, and I wasn’t very happy, though I dare say it was a good deal my own fault, and if I had my time over again, which I wouldn’t for the world, I’d probably manage much better.