had something to do with the way in which she had
carried herself throughout the whole thing. Really few women could have
done it as well. The pale violet of her travelling costume which was
touched with sable was becoming to her fine, straight figure. And at the
moment her eyes rested on his with the suggestion of trustful appeal.
Despite the inelasticity of his mind, he vaguely realised his bridegroom
honours.

"I can begin now," he said with stiff lightness, if such a paradox can
be, "to address you as the man in Esmond addressed his wife. I can call
you 'my lady.'"

"Oh!" she said, still trying to smile, but quivering.

"You look very nice," he said. "Upon my word you do."

And kissed her trembling honest mouth almost as if he had been a
man--not quite--but almost.

Chapter Nine

They began the new life at Palstrey Manor, which was ancient and most
beautiful. Nothing Walderhurst owned was as perfect an example of olden
time beauty, and as wonderful for that reason. Emily almost wept before
the loveliness of it, though it would not have been possible for her to
explain or particularise the grounds for her emotion. She knew nothing
whatever of the venerable wonders of the architecture. To her the place
looked like an immense, low-built, rambling fairy palace--the palace of
some sleeping beauty during whose hundred years of slumber rich
dark-green creepers had climbed and overgrown its walls and towers,
enfolding and festooning them with leaves and tendrils and actual
branches. The huge park held an enchanted forest of trees; the long
avenue of giant limes, their writhen limbs arching and interlocking,
their writhen roots deep in velvet moss, was an approach suited to a
fairy story.

* * * * *

During her first month at Palstrey Emily went about still in her dream.
It became more a dream every day. The old house was part of it, the
endless rooms, the wonderful corridors, the gardens with their
revelations of winding walks, labyrinths of evergreens, and grass paths
leading into beautiful unexpected places, where one suddenly came upon
deep, clear pools where water plants grew and slow carp had dreamed
centuries away. The gardens caused Emily to disbelieve in the existence
of Mortimer Street, but the house at times caused her to disbelieve in
herself. The picture gallery especially had this effect upon her. The
men and women, once as alive as her everyday self, now gazing