But the drive home in the narrow confines of the Delford brougham remained in Nora’s memory as one of the most painful in her experience. The Rev. John persisted in his funereal solemnity, and talked of the weather, the journey, and the crops, very much as though he were trying to take their minds off the unpleasant circumstances which had brought them together. As to Miles, he sat in the far corner with his hands in his pockets and stared out of the window—when he was not staring the new-comer out of countenance. Poor Nora! Never before had she greeted the appearance of the monument and the ugly church steeple with so much thankfulness. "We are nearly there now," she said, looking up into Wolff’s face. "Mother has been so impatient to see you." Her eyes were full of a shamed, indignant apology, to which Wolff’s quiet smile seemed to answer: "What do I care for them? I would carry you off if there were forty of them, all forty times as disagreeable!" And he pressed her hand defiantly under the rugs. At length the vicarage was reached. The queer, old-fashioned trunk was dragged down from its perch, and five minutes later Wolff was standing in the dimly lit drawing-room. Mrs. Ingestre had heard their coming, and came slowly and painfully forward. Her hands were outstretched, and Wolff took them, gravely bowing, and kissed them. Nora saw a curious, half-horrified expression pass over her father’s face, and Miles smothered a laugh. She felt in that moment as though she could have killed them both, and then fled with Wolff anywhere, so long as she could get away from their stifling atmosphere of self-satisfaction and petty prejudices. Her mother’s voice was the first to break the silence. "My dear Wolff," Mrs. Ingestre said gently, "how glad I am that you have really come at last!" The simple words, with their quietly emphasised acceptance of him as a relation, acted like a balm on poor Nora’s wounded spirits. She saw, too, that Wolff’s face had relaxed. "You make me very happy," he said. "I feel for the first time that Nora and I really belong to one another—since I have seen you, and you have welcomed me." A strange sound came from the Rev. John’s direction, which might have been a cough or a groan of disapproval. Mrs. Ingestre appeared to notice nothing. She took Wolff’s arm, and, leaning on him as though for support, led him closer to the light. "You must forgive me," she said. "Remember that I am an old woman and that old women have their cranks. One of mine is that I do not like to be kept waiting. And I have been kept waiting so long to see the face of this wonderful German that I forgot that in all politeness I should be studying you out of the corners of my eyes. Nora has of course described you—but then, Nora is prejudiced."