coming back to Ansdore and the old home.
Joanna forgot how much she had hated it, would not think that this
precious return was merely the action of a woman without resources. She
gave herself up to the joy of preparing a welcome--as splendidly and
elaborately as she had prepared for her sister's return from school.
This time, however, she went further, and actually made some concessions
to Ellen's taste. She remembered that she liked dull die-away colours
"like the mould on jam," so she took down the pink curtains and folded
away the pink bedspread, and put in their places material that the shop
at Rye assured her was "art green"--which, in combination with the
crimson, flowery walls and floor contrived most effectually to suggest a
scum of grey-green mould on a pot of especially vivid strawberry jam.

But she was angry too--her heart burned to think not only of Ellen's sin
but of the casual way in which she treated it. "I won't have none of her
loose notions here," said Joanna grimly. She made up her mind to give
her sister a good talking to, to convince her of the way in which her
"goings on" struck decent folk; but she would not do it at the
start--"I'll give her time to settle down a bit first."

During the few days which elapsed between Ellen's telegram and her
arrival, Joanna saw nothing of Alce. She had one letter from him, in
which he told her that he had been over to Fairfield to look at the
plough she was speaking of, but that it was old stuff and would be no
use to her. He did not even mention Ellen's name. She wondered if he was
making any plans for leaving Donkey Street--she hoped he would not be
such a fool as to go. He and Ellen could easily keep out of each other's
way. Still, if Ellen wouldn't stay unless he went, she would rather have
Ellen than Alce.... He would have to sell Donkey Street, or perhaps he
might let it off for a little time.

April had just become May when Ellen returned to Ansdore. It had been a
rainy spring, and great pools were on the marshes, overflows from the
dykes and channels, clear mirrors green from the grass beneath their
shallows and the green rainy skies that hung above them. Here and there
they reflected white clumps and walls of hawthorn, with the pale
yellowish gleam of the buttercups in the pastures. The two sisters,
driving back from Rye, looked round on the green twilight of the Marsh
with indifferent eyes. Joanna had ceased to look for any beauty in her
surroundin