"You are a little spitfire," she said. "Of course you're in love with Guy now; but wait a year or two, then you'll find him a merciless despot. I know him as you don't. My mother always feared him." "Oh, Mathilde, don't be so disagreeable! You are going away. Let us part friends. You never loved this place, you told me you always hated it. You would be miserable if it were your home. Don't grudge it to me. I love every stick and stone of it." Adrienne refused to quarrel with her and they parted amicably, but she was glad when Mathilde had gone. She stood outside on the terrace waving to her, and when the car had disappeared she turned to her husband: "And now, Guy, we are alone together. Our life has begun, what are we going to make of it?" With his hand on her shoulder, he turned her back into the hall. It was a cold bleak afternoon; the wind was howling in the old chimneys, but the wood crackled merrily on the hearth. He pulled forward a big easy-chair close to the fire for her and took another for himself. "We're first of all going to shut out the cold and the grey dreariness," he said in a tone of content; "and then, when we're thoroughly warm and comfortable, we shall be in a better position to discuss life with all its possibilities and failures." "Oh," said Adrienne with a happy laugh as she tilted her head back on the cushion behind it, and looked at Guy with glowing, dreamy eyes, "isn't it good to be alone at last? There has been so much to think of, so much to do since we came home, and it has been such a sad time all round, that we've had no time to think of ourselves. Talk to me now. You and I have had no proper talk since we arrived here." "What is proper talk?" "Edifying, satisfying. How are we going to spend our days?" "I shall still run the farm. I can't keep my fingers off it, and there's a lot to do in the woods this winter. Timber to be felled, young trees planted. We must settle down to a year's domesticity, but we have had a very pleasant time together in Virginia, eh?" "How I loved it!" said Adrienne in a rapt tone. "I used to think there were no beautiful old houses to be compared with ours in England—but travel widens one's mind. If I shut my eyes, I can see your aunts quaint rambling old house with the maple trees in their autumn glory, and the deep wide verandahs running round it, and the beautiful woods surrounding it. I suppose it will come to you, Guy, when she dies? She told me as much. Alain will have two beautiful inheritances." "He won't have both," said Guy. They were silent. Adrienne was wondering with wistful eyes if she would be given sons of her own. "Where would you rather live?" Guy asked her suddenly. "Virginia or here, or—England." "We'll end our days in England," said Adrienne playfully; "spend our old age there; but at present my heart is here." "And so, I believe, is mine," said Guy. "My wife has made me love my father's home."