A year later, Harriett, run down, was ordered to the seaside. She went to Sidmouth. She told herself that she wanted to see the place where she had been so happy with her mother, where poor Aunt Harriett had died. Looking through the local paper she found in the list of residents: Sidcote--Mr. and Mrs. Robert Lethbridge and Miss Walker. She wrote to Robin and asked if she might call on his wife. A mile of hot road through the town and inland brought her to a door in a lane and a thatched cottage with a little lawn behind it. From the doorstep she could see two figures, a man and a woman, lying back in garden chairs. Inside the house she heard the persistent, energetic sound of hammering. The woman got up and came to her. She was young, pink-faced and golden-haired, and she said she was Miss Walker, Mrs. Lethbridge’s sister. A tall, lean, gray man rose from the garden chair, slowly, dragging himself with an invalid air. His eyes stared, groping, blurred films that trembled between the pouch and droop of the lids; long cheeks, deep grooved, dropped to the infirm mouth that sagged under the limp moustache. That was Robin. He became agitated when he saw her. “Poor Robin,” she thought. “All these years, and it’s too much for him, seeing me.” Presently he dragged himself from the lawn to the house and disappeared through the French window where the hammering came from. “Have I frightened him away?” she said. “Oh, no, he’s always like that when he sees strange faces.” “My face isn’t exactly strange.” “Well, he must have thought it was.” A sudden chill crept through her. “He’ll be all right when he gets used to you,” Miss Walker said. The strange face of Miss Walker chilled her. A strange young woman, living close to Robin, protecting him, explaining Robin’s ways. The sound of hammering ceased. Through the long, open window she saw a woman rise up from the floor and shed a white apron. She came down the lawn to them, with raised arms, patting disordered hair; large, a full, firm figure clipped in blue linen. A full-blown face, bluish pink; thick gray eyes slightly protruding; a thick mouth, solid and firm and kind. That was Robin’s wife. Her sister was slighter, fresher, a good ten years younger, Harriett thought. “Excuse me, we’re only just settling in. I was nailing down the carpet in Robin’s study.” Her lips were so thick that they moved stiffly when she spoke or smiled. She panted a little as if from extreme exertion. When they were all seated Mrs. Lethbridge addressed her sister. “Robin was quite right. It looks _much_ better turned the other way.” “Do you mean to say he made you take it all up and put it down again? Well----” “What’s the use?... Miss Frean, you don’t know what it is to have a husband who _will_ have things just so.” “She had to mow the lawn this morning because Robin can’t bear to see one blade of grass higher than another.” “Is he as particular as all that?”