She gave way to him, hoping that it was not wrong to do so. It was nearly time to dress for dinner now, but Stephen had not yet returned. She was watching the street for him, wrapped in a blissfulness she had not felt during all her honeymoon. In England things would be easier. Curiously enough, now that the honeymoon was over and she was to meet her aunt and father as a wife of two months I standing she felt a great pride in Stephen, and in herself for possessing him for a husband.

The bitterness she felt towards Miss Arden was still there, but so hidden and smothered that she was hardly conscious of it. At the moment she felt only excitement at the prospect of seeing her again: excitement and importance. Now at last she was grown-up, and a creature of account.

She turned from the window to survey her room again, letting her eyes dwell lovingly on each solid and massive piece of furniture, emblems of respectability so sadly lacking abroad. It was warm, a golden September evening, but she had had a fire lit in the grate just so that she might look at it and feel that she was really in England. Central-heating was all very well, but it was not companionable.

Lunch on the dining-car of the train up from Dover had been delightful, because it was so dull and English. There was boiled cod—on dining-cars there always was—and roast beef, and fruit tart, things she had never imagined she would yearn for. And here, in this solid and respectable bedroom she had had tea—real Tea with a capital letter—triangular morsels of bread and butter, and deadly plum cake, cut in strips. It was horrible, but no other country in the world could—or would—manufacture it. She ate it all.

The chamber-maid came in, heralded by a discreet knock. She was prim and middle-aged, heavy-footed, and clumsy. Elizabeth loved her.

“What a beautiful evening, isn’t it?” she said, just to hear an English answer.

“Yes, madam. Will you have the blinds drawn now?”

“Please,” Elizabeth said, coming away from the window.

The blinds were jerked down, curtain rings rattled along a brass rod.

“Is there anything else you’d like, madam?”

“No, thank you.”

The maid went out, and Elizabeth opened the door of her wardrobe to select a frock.

She had almost finished dressing before she heard Stephen in the adjoining room. He called through the communicating door.

“Can I come in, ’Lisbeth?”

“Yes, do. You’re awfully late. I’m nearly ready.”

He entered.

“Am I? Doesn’t matter. You’ll want to see your people alone. I shan’t be long. London looks good, doesn’t she?”

“So quiet and restful,” she nodded. “Was Mater in?”