Jerry, the Airedale, came racing round the corner of the house to throw himself upon Elizabeth; Stephen let go the wolf-hound’s collar, and Elizabeth, laughing, dishevelled, was lost under the violent welcome of the dogs.

Dinner in the panelled dining-room that evening was rather a silent meal, but across the table Stephen could see Elizabeth’s eyes shining in content.

Candles, orange shaded, cast a warm light over the polished table; the silver sparkled, and the glass; a great bowl of hothouse carnations stood in the middle of the table, trailing asparagus fern about it. A carnation was tucked into Elizabeth’s napkin; she fastened it in her dress, and smiled her thanks to Stephen.

“After lodging-houses this—” her gesture embraced all the room—“is very comforting.” Her eyes twinkled. “I’m looking forward to my own bed to-night. At Mrs. Cotton’s I had to arrange myself amongst the bumps.”

“Poor ’Lisbeth!” Stephen said. “You shall stay in bed all day.”

“Oh, no!” she said. “I shall get up very early and go and see the ducks. Oh, and Stephen!—could I have a cow one day?”

“A cow?” he asked, puzzled. “What for?”

“For fun. Two cows. One might be lonely. I’ve been staying on a farm, and I learned to milk them. I’d like a pig, too, please. Yes, and a pet lamb. Or would the dogs kill it?”

“We can teach them to leave it alone,” he said, with twitching lips. Then his amusement got the better of him. “Oh, Elizabeth, you funny kid! Are you going to start a farm?”

“We’ll see,” she said profoundly. “If I did, we’d have to have more land. I don’t think the neighbours would approve, would they?”

“Do we care?” he asked.

She considered.

“You don’t,” she said. “I—well, do I?”

“A bit. You’ll learn to send them to the devil, same as I do.”

“I wonder?” Elizabeth said.

She awoke next morning early, and lay for some time revelling in her surroundings. She was dressed and downstairs long before Stephen had moved. He came down to find her with her hands full of winter daisies, flushed and bright-eyed. He did not kiss her, although he knew she would have permitted it, but laid his hands on her shoulders, and huskily said,

“The utter bliss—to see you here!”

She blushed, and bent her head over the flowers.

“Aren’t they beautiful, Stephen?”

“And you,” he said.

“Also the smell of the coffee,” Elizabeth remarked. “Let’s have breakfast now; I’m famishing.”

Over breakfast he said carelessly,

“You know Nina’s going to be married next month?”

“No! Good gracious, I thought— Whom to?”

“Young Hemingway. They sail for India in January. Hemingway thinks everything Nina does is perfect. Even that extraordinary novel. Do you remember it?”

Of course she remembered. How she had hated it, and the endless discussions concerning it. Now she laughed, and nodded.