“Yes, but that doesn’t tell me anything,” he pointed out.

“Of course I’m happy!”

“Cheers! Let’s go on to Rome!”

“We shall have to buy another small trunk, then,” she answered practically. “All those things we bought ...!”

Her sense of duty was strong, and made him laugh. If there were a hole in his sock it must be mended at once; she would do nothing else until that was finished.

“Never mind that!” he said impatiently. “I want to drive you out to Fiesole.”

“I must do this first,” she answered. “And there’s a button off your pajamas.”

“Damn my pajamas. I didn’t marry you for that.”

“But, Stephen—”

“Do it some other time and come out now.”

“I can’t, Stephen. There are heaps of odd jobs I must see to. Why must we go to Fiesole to-day? Won’t tomorrow do as well?”

He sulked; that was another side of him she had never suspected to be there. It astonished her and made her unhappy. She could not understand why it was so imperative to go to Fiesole to-day. There seemed to be no reason; to-morrow would have done as well, or better, and yet Stephen sulked. She wondered when he would make it up; in the end it was she who coaxed him round. Then he was repentant, and would have done anything she wished to show that he was sorry.

She liked to plan ahead; he preferred to act on the impulse of the moment. “Looking forward” was the nicest part of an event to Elizabeth; to him it was the most irksome. She, of long training, was always punctual to meals; he, unless she urged him, never. If it were a matter of catching a train she would be ready half an hour too soon, and would wear a worried frown and a restless air until they were safely in the train, and their luggage too. He, ten minutes before it was time to drive to the station, would stroll out and buy a pair of gloves. It drove her to distraction; it meant that they would be late and would have to run to catch the train. If Stephen left his walking-stick behind, Elizabeth fussed to retrieve it. Stephen only laughed, and said, I’ll buy another.

He saw things from a different standpoint; he said things she would not have dreamed of saying.

“Don’t wear that hat, Elizabeth; I simply loathe it!”

She thought that she could not have heard aright. She had been taught from earliest childhood that personal remarks of a disparaging nature, even between the nearest of relations, were not only rude, but unkind as well.

“You—loathe it?” she repeated blankly.

“Mm. Doesn’t suit you, darling. Do take it off!”

She did so, slowly. The hurt she felt showed in her face, so that he came to her and put his hands on her shoulders.