“Darling, I’ve been thinking about it, and I wonder whether you’d like to go abroad instead of into the country? You didn’t like the Halt in the winter, did you? So if you’d prefer—”

“But I shouldn’t, Stephen. Thank you very much. I want to go back to the Halt. I need it.”

His eyes brightened.

“Sure?”

“Quite sure. Quite ready too.”

“Oh, splendid, Elizabeth! You saw your people?”

“Yes. They were glad, I think. Auntie cried. I don’t know why.”

“My dear, your aunt—” He stopped, remembering that she would brook no criticism of her relatives.

“I know,” Elizabeth said. “She always does. Say what you like, Stephen. You must. Anything that comes into your head.”

He stared at her.

“You wouldn’t like it if I did, Elizabeth.”

“No, perhaps not, at first. But I’m going to get used to it. I’ve—I’ve come to the conclusion that reticence— is rather dangerous. We’ll be quite frank with each other now. I’m learning a lot, aren’t I? Unlearning a lot too. I’ve got into the way of thinking quite honestly to myself. One does if one’s alone. Oh, Mrs. Cotton thinks you’re a real gentleman! She said so!”

“How flattering!” he said. “Are you going to bid her a fond farewell now? Shall I lend you my handkerchief?”

“Oh, I shan’t cry as much as that!” she smiled.

They came home in the twilight and drove up the avenue to the house under damp trees, and over rotting leaves. Lights gleamed in the windows; somewhere a dog barked, not a challenge, but a welcome. Elizabeth saw the wolfhound bound out to meet them, and Flo, the cocker, and a great gladness rose in her throat. Dumbly she alighted, and stood still, looking about her, marvelling that everything should be still untroubled here, and the same. The flower-beds gleamed wet and dark; through the dusk she saw chrysanthemums, golden and red and white; at her feet were pale Christmas roses; behind her stood the house glowing warm from many lights, protective, she thought, her home.

Stephen’s hand on her arm; his voice in her ear:

“My dear?”

“It is beautiful,” she said. “Even in winter. Why didn’t I see that before?”

“I don’t know, ’Lisbeth. Perhaps you hadn’t learned to see.”

“All my life,” Elizabeth said slowly, “I’ve been blind. A fool. Just a fool. Oh . . . Nana!”

Nana came out of the open door. She waited a moment, then quietly she said,

“Good evening, madam. This is a great day for the Halt.”

Elizabeth stepped forward, and held out her hand.

“It’s a great day for me, Nana. A fresh start.”

“That’s good, madam. We’ve missed you.”