She'll show it to you, I daresay." Later, when Mrs.Trenchard took him over the house, his sight of the nursery was more moving to him than any of his old memories.

She unlocked the door with a sharp turn of the wrist and showed him the wide sun-lit room, still with fresh curtains, with a wall-paper of robins and cherries, with the toys--dolls, soldiers, a big dolls'-house, a rocking-horse, boxes of bricks.
"Our two children, who died five years ago," she said in her quiet, calm voice, "this was their room.

These were their things.

I haven't been able to change it as yet.

Mr.Lasher," she said, smiling up at him, "had no children, and you were too old for a nursery, I suppose." It was then, as he stood in the doorway, bathed in a shaft of sunlight, that he was again, with absolute physical consciousness, aware of the children's presence.