Without showing the least impatience, Sir Robert decided for her upon the right mantle, paid the eight hundred pounds which was the price of it, and had it put into the taxi-cab. There was no change in Lady Sarah’s expression as she left the shop and heard her husband give the address of a fashionable milliner. “Am I to get out?” she asked when the taxi stopped at the door. Quite unmoved, Sir Robert said: “I think so.” And they entered the shop together. If there was one place in this world in which Lady Sarah was happier than in another, it was a hat-shop. But in spite of the temptation of the latest creations around her, she contrived triumphantly to carry out of the shop, as she carried it in, her air of listless indifference to everything around her. She submitted to have one hat tried on after another, an occupation in which she usually delighted. Whether they suited her ill or well, not a sign of interest did she give, and she allowed her husband to choose her headgear for her as he had chosen the mantle. Nothing daunted by her malice, Sir Robert took her to the best boot-shop in London, and finally to a jeweller’s, where he chose a beautiful pendant of diamonds, pearls and emeralds, her favourite combination of gems. Lady Sarah preserved the same stolidity, the same indifference throughout, and when they took their places in the train to return to Dourville, she did not even take the trouble to pick up one of her parcels when it fell on the floor. It was a trial of strength between them; Sir Robert, on his side, still hoped against hope that his generosity would conquer her gratitude in the end, and that she would appreciate the nobility of his revenge upon a wife who had been caught in the act of attempting to desert him. Lady Sarah, on her side, determined to show him that she was not to be bought over by his kindness, fought sullenly for the maintenance of her stolid ill-temper, and succeeded so far, but failed in her amiable wish to excite her husband to ill-humour or to reproach. When they reached the Mill-house, they got out of the carriage, which had been sent to meet them, in just the same manner as they had got in that morning. Lady Sarah cold, listless, languid, almost plain in her ill-humour; Sir Robert calm, firm, unruffled as ever. She did not even turn to speak about the parcels which were in the carriage. As a rule she was too much excited about any new purchase even to allow the servants to bring it in for her. Seizing it with both hands, she would run to the nearest sympathiser of her own sex, Minnie, or Rhoda, or even Mrs. Hawkes, to show her new possession with the glee of a child. Now she marched into the house as if such frivolities were altogether beneath her. She went upstairs to dress for dinner, and came down looking rather more contented than she had done all day.