Minna was thinking of the coming meeting all the time that she was driving Fulvia in her pony-carriage from the station to her house, a distance of some six miles. They drove through the lanes, whose hedges were fresh with the brilliant green of early June, not yet white with hawthorn--that is a bloom which rarely shows itself early in Durham--clear-looking fields and pastures, great trees with polished leaves shining as they rustled in the wind; along the highroads they drove, elevated and giving great sweeps of landscape, chiefly huge swells of moorland, purple under the changing sky, and in the far distance a silver shimmer which was the sea. The air was fresh and cool, the sun was bright, the pony was happy and willing. The six miles were quickly covered, and then they stopped in front of a small plain wicket from which a short footpath led to the deep porch of a long-fronted two-storied house without any claims to architecture. Windows had here and there been thrown out, to afford more room and more light, quite regardless of neatness or any effort at appearance. Different kinds of roses clambered over the porch and up to the windows, and a thick mass of ivy covered all one side of the house. At the sound of their wheels a gardener’s boy had come from some hidden region, grinning from ear to ear, to hold the pony. A waiting maid in a lilac print gown and a white apron came flying forth from the kitchen side of the house, smiling a welcome. ‘Take the things, Mary. Put that bag in the blue room for Mrs. Marchmont. Is Signor Oriole in?’ ‘Yes, ma’am. At least, he was writing in his study half an hour ago.’ ‘Come, Fulvia,’ said Minna, gently taking her hand, and leading her into the house. The front door stood wide open, showing a broad tiled passage, square, like a hall full of shade, but with rays of sunshine pouring down also from a landing window at the head of a short flight of shallow stairs. Minna paused a moment, and then said: ‘You will come and speak to him at once, won’t you?’ ‘Oh yes, please,’ replied Fulvia, almost nervously. ‘At once. Then it will be done with.’ ‘This way, then. Shall I go away, and leave you with him?’ ‘No, oh no, my dear Mrs. Hastings!’ she exclaimed almost imploringly. ‘Come with me, and stay all the time; I am strong, but I am not made of iron.’ ‘I will stay,’ was all that Minna said, leading her along a passage, and through a sort of little anteroom to a door at which she knocked. A voice from within cried, ‘Avanti.’ Fulvia was pale as death, still and rigid. Without pausing, Minna opened the door and went in, drawing her companion with her by the hand.