Caroline would be near him, but no longer in his home, to surround him with all the devotion that had brought him such solace since the death of her mother. He had not known how much he depended upon her until Beatrix's marriage. She had been almost everything to him since, and had kept him from the sense of loss that was weighing on him now, when Beatrix had left him. But it was the loss of both of them that he was feeling, and the end and finish of the longest and one of the best chapters of his life. What was his life to be in the future? It was that question to which he wanted to find some sort of answer before he faced again the people who had come to celebrate the opening of a new chapter for Caroline, but the close of one for him. When he was ready to leave his room he paused before the portrait of his young wife hanging over the mantelpiece. He had never wanted her more than he did now, to tread the downward slope with him. As he went along the corridor, the door of a room on the other side of it opened, and Ella Carruthers, who was staying in the house, came out. She also was dressed in tweeds and walking boots, and as they looked at one another she laughed and said: "I see we both want the same thing--to get away for a bit and think about it." His first feeling was one of annoyance. Caught like that, he could not suggest that he should go his way and she hers. But he wanted no companionship in his efforts to face what he had to face. But when he had said lightly: "We'll go for a sharp walk together, but don't let anybody else see us," he became conscious that just this companionship would be good for him. She had been so much with his daughters that she was almost like one of his own family. She was only three or four years older than Caroline. During the disturbance of mind he had undergone at the time of Beatrix's engagement to Lassigny she had given him more help than anybody--more help even than Caroline, because she had a wider knowledge and experience; and she had shown wisdom with Beatrix too, who had listened to her when she would have listened to nobody else. If anybody could do so, she would help him over his dark hour. So they set out together through the park, making for unfrequented roads and lanes, and walking fast. Neither of them spoke for some time. Then Ella said: "I'm afraid it hasn't been much of a success; but I think you were right all the same." "Right in what?" he asked. "In having a _pukka_ wedding?" "I didn't mean that, but I think you were right there, too. It showed, anyhow, that _you_ weren't ashamed of it." This was pretty plain speaking. But he had encouraged that from her. And she had already discussed Maurice with him.