“Beyond question,” he continues, “there are such beings upon the earth, visitors or sojourners by chance, whose true commerce is elsewhere, in a state not visible to us, nor to be apprehended by most of us; whose relation with mankind is temporary. The spheres which govern us, govern not them, and their conduct is dictated by their good pleasure, where ours goes after the good pleasure of our betters. Thus a man may, if he can, take a goddess or nymph to wife, but should not be disconcerted with what she may elect to do.” Sanchia returned silently to London by the 6.50 from Salisbury, and arrived at Charles Street by half-past eight, which was Lady Maria's usual hour. She changed her dress hurriedly and came into the drawing-room. Ingram was waiting there, his hands behind his back. He looked at her as she entered, but did not greet her. Perhaps he saw his doom in her eyes. “Had a good day, Sancie?” he asked, after a while of gazing. “Very good,” she said. “Saw your man?” “Yes, I saw him.” “Mad as ever?” “Ah,” she said, “who is mad?” “Well, my dear, if he is not, we are. That's certain. What have you done with Bill Chevenix?” “He's gone home to dress. He will be here directly.” “I hope,” said Ingram, “he played the perfect squire.” She stood by the window looking out towards the west. Luminous orange mist flared up behind the chimney-stacks in streamers. Above that, in a sky faintly blue, crimson clouds, like plumes of feather, floated without motion. Ingram called her to him. “Sancie, come here a minute. I want you.” She turned her head and looked at him, then slowly crossed the room. She kept her eyes upon him, but did not seem to see him. They were haunted eyes. She came in front of him, and stood, questing his face, as if she was trying to see him within it. He continued to smile jauntily, but his lips twitched with the strain. He put his arm round her shoulder and drew her towards him. “This day month, my girl,” he said, and kissed her. She stiffened at his touch. Her lips were cold, and made him shiver. His arm fell back. “Pooh! what do you care?” She stood in her place before him without speaking. If she had looked at him she might have stricken him blind. When Lady Maria came in, she moved away, and returned to the window. The glow had almost gone; nothing remained but wan blue, white towards the horizon. It was the colour of death; but a single star shone out in it. Chevenix came in briskly, fastening his sleeve-links. “Here is the Perfect Chaperon, here is he!” he said, and bowed to Lady Maria. “My dear Aunt Wenman, you've no notion how hungry I am. We saw Senhouse teaching the hares their catechism. Afterwards we lunched on conversation and water. Ah, and salad. Excellent salad. Then I went goat-stalking, and had a nap. Sancie and the Seer conversed. A great day.”