The duchess went to her rooms in a mood of seething, but somewhat helpless, fury. She was softened a little by finding them just as she had left them two years before. Plainly some one had taken care of the clothes she had left behind her; and her anxiety about a dress to dine in was lulled to rest. She thought for a while that she would go and berate Pollyooly; but she came to the conclusion that it would be absurd to blame her for the action of the duke. It was much more annoying to find that she could not reasonably blame the duke. She was forced to admit that he had a right to the domestic life, if he wished for it. She was also annoyed to feel an uncommonly pleasant sense of home-coming. She resented it, but she could not rid herself of it. She came to dinner very dignified and stern; but the Honourable John Ruffin saw to it that the meal was unconstrained. He spared no effort to keep the talk in a light vein; and the duke, after his talk with the duchess that afternoon, was sufficiently at his ease to second him to the best of his not very great ability. He won the Honourable John Ruffin's golden opinions by remembering the other two occasions on which the duchess had worn the gown she was wearing to-night. Little by little, against her will, she thawed. The sense of home-coming grew stronger. The easy, reminiscent talk--reminiscent of pleasant days--the familiar room, and, perhaps, her favourite brand of champagne, softened her till her smiles came easily. Moreover it was delightful to be amused again; and it was borne suddenly in upon her that the months she had been living in hiding had been tiresome, boring months, from the point of view of life, utterly wasted months. Again and again she looked at the duke as if she saw him for the first time. Plainly she was amending her opinion of him. She yielded readily to the entreaties of the two men to stop and drink her coffee and smoke her cigarette with them. The Honourable John Ruffin talked on; she laughed several times. Then, having finished his cigarette, and lighted a cigar, he said: "I have a sonnet to write to the eyebrow of a lady--no, Caroline: you do not know her--and I must have perfect solitude, by the side of still water, in the moonlight. So I am going down to the long pool; and I must on no account be interrupted. So long." And he went quickly through the long window. He spoke quickly and went quickly, before the duchess could suggest that he should wait a while. She felt unequal to a tete-a-tete with her husband, and nervously she half rose. "Oh, don't you rush away too," said the duke somewhat plaintively. She sank back into her chair. The duke looked at her for a while in silence with eyes full of an admiration at once gratifying and discomfiting; then he said: "I say, Caroline, can you remember what it was we first quarrelled about?" The duchess knitted her brow in the effort to recall it, and said: