The days flew past; Elizabeth felt as though she had been married a very long time and yet was not acclimatised to the new conditions of life. Physical contact with Stephen grew less revolting, but no less unpleasant. She went through a phase of feeling herself degraded, and although she put the fancy from her, knowing that it was absurd, it preyed upon her nerves so that they became jangled and on edge. She began to jump at sudden noises, and grew restless, sometimes even morbid. Deep in her soul lingered a tiny fear that Mr. Hengist had been right when he said that she did not really love Stephen. The fear was so terrible, so shocking, that she stifled it and would not admit of its presence. The complications that must inevitably arise, did she acknowledge the fear, effectually prevented her from doing so. She assured herself that nothing was wrong, that she would grow accustomed to her new life, and would, in after days, look back upon this phase as the morbid imaginings of a nervous bride.

Just as she had first been thankful that her honeymoon should be spent abroad, so now, was she desirous of returning to England. Hotel life was becoming tedious; much as she enjoyed sight-seeing, the constant round of amusement began to pall on her. She thought that it would be easier to settle down if she were installed in her own house, with work to do, and time to rest. Stephen too would have work to do, and something besides his love for her to occupy his thoughts. They would have a chance to learn to live together, not at fever heat, but in the “take it for granted way” that she had dreamed of. She wanted placidity not passion, because she was very young and undeveloped, and did not understand that placidity comes in middle-life, not in the first years of marriage..

In more senses than one the honeymoon was strenuous. She began to wish for more society; perhaps, if she had really loved Stephen, she would not wish that. As it was she was anxious to see Sarah again, and her other friends, but she did not like to suggest to Stephen that they should go home.

In the end it was he who broached the question. Typewritten letters came to him, and he became sometimes rather distrait. At last he spoke to Elizabeth, tentatively suggesting that they should leave Italy.

“Jackson—my agent, darling, you remember—writes that Edwards and Tollemache are agitating about my next book. Would you mind very much if we thought about returning soon? I ought to get to work on ‘Caraway Seeds’ as soon as possible.”

“Of course not,” she replied instantly. “We’ll go as soon as you like.”

“You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Not a bit. I’ve loved being in Italy, but I’d like to go home now and see everybody again, and—oh, and hear English spoken!”