‘Oh, did he?’ said Virginia, suddenly eager. ‘How was he? How did he seem? Had he had a good journey up? Did he say anything about the sandwiches? I’ve got a new cook, and I don’t know if her sand----’ ‘Has Mrs. Benson gone?’ ‘Yes. We decided she was too expensive. You see, our idea is to cut down unnecessary expenses in the house so as to have more to carry out our schemes with, and this is the first time the new one has had to cut sandwiches. Did Stephen say anything about them?’ ‘No; so I expect they were all right.’ ‘I do hope they were. He hates restaurant cars, you know, and won’t go and have a proper lunch in them. And it’s important----’ ‘Of course. How are you, darling?’ ‘<i>Quite</i> well. It’s wonderful how well I feel. How did you think Stephen was looking?’ ‘Quite well.’ ‘Not tired? That journey every week is so tiring. I must say I shall be glad when Lent is over. Isn’t it wonderful, mother, how he works, how he gives up his life----’ ‘And how very well he is preaching. <i>You</i> have made him preach like that.’ ‘I?’ ‘Yes. By just loving him.’ Virginia blushed. ‘But who could help it?’ she asked. ‘And by believing in him.’ ‘I think everybody must believe in Stephen,’ she said. Her mother pressed her arm. ‘Darling,’ she said softly; and thought how strange a thing love was, how strange that Virginia, by taking this spinster-man, this middle-aged dry man, and just loving him with all her simple young heart and entirely believing in him, had made him, so completely commonplace before in all his utterances, suddenly--at least in the pulpit--sing. Was it acute, personal experience that one needed? Did one only cry out the truth really movingly when under some sort of lash, either of grief or ecstasy? They went up the broad steps on to the familiar terrace. George’s peacocks--George had been of opinion that manors should have peacocks--were behaving as peacocks ought. In the great tubs on each side of the row of long windows--George had seen pictures of terraces, and they all had tubs--the first tulips were showing buds. The bells had begun to ring for afternoon service, and the sound floated across the quiet tree-tops as it had floated on all the Sundays of all the years Catherine had spent in that place. Such blameless, such dignified years. Every corner of them open to the light. Years of clear duties, clear affections--family years. And here was her serious young daughter carrying on the tradition. And here was she too come back to it, but come back to it disgracefully, to hide. She hiding! She winced, and held on tighter to Virginia’s arm. What would Virginia say if she knew? It seemed to Catherine that even her soul turned red at the bare thought.