‘Yes, I have heard of her, but never seen her. A poor half-witted creature, I believe.’ ‘Not half-witted, but deranged. Her brain has evidently been turned by some great sorrow. From what I can gather she must have loved some one superior to her in rank, and been ill-treated by him. I fancy this is why Mrs. Trevanard says bitter things about inequality of station.’ ‘An all-sufficient reason. I shall never feel angry with Mrs. Trevanard again,’ said Madge. The Manor House looked much gayer and brighter to-day, with servants passing to and fro, great bowls of roses on all the tables, banks of flowers in the windows, new books scattered on the tables, holland covers banished to the limbo of household stores, and two pretty women lending the charm of their presence to the scene. Never had Maurice Clissold seen husband and wife so completely happy, or more entirely suited to each other than these two seemed. Domestic life at Penwyn Manor House was like an idyll. Simple, unaffected happiness showed itself in every look, in every word and tone. There was just that amount of plenteousness and luxury in all things which makes life smooth and pleasant, without the faintest ostentation. A certain subdued comfort reigned everywhere, and Churchill in no wise fell into the common errors of men who have suffered a sudden elevation to wealth. He neither ‘talked rich,’ nor told his friends with a deprecating shrug of his shoulders that he had just enough for bread and cheese. In a word, he took things easily. As a husband he was, in Viola’s words, ‘simply perfect.’ It was impossible to imagine devotedness more thorough yet less obtrusive. His face never turned towards his wife without brightening like a landscape in a sudden gleam of sunlight. There was nothing that could be condemned as ‘spooning’ between these married lovers, yet no one would fail to understand that they were all the world to each other. Viola had long since altered her mind about Mr. Penwyn. From thinking him ‘not quite nice,’ she had grown to consider him adorable. To her he had been all generosity and kindness, treating her in every way as if she had been his own sister, and a sister well beloved. She had the prettiest possible suite of rooms at Penwyn, a horse of Churchill’s own choosing, her own piano, her own maid, and more pocket-money than she had ever had in her life before. ‘It comes rather hard upon Churchill to have two young women to provide for instead of one.’ Viola remarked to her sister; ‘but he is so divinely good about it—she was a young lady who delighted in strong adverbs—that I hardly realize what a sponge I am.’ And then came sisterly embracings and protestations. Thus the Penwyn Manor people were altogether the happiest of families. Maurice thoroughly enjoyed his day at Penwyn. After luncheon they all rambled about the grounds, Churchill and his wife always side by side, so that the guest had the pretty Miss Bellingham for his companion.