She sat down in her place and she felt stupid tears rise in her eyes. She poured out the tea and buttered herself some toast, while John was apparently busy at a side table where dwelt the hot dishes. He selected the daintiest piece of sole for her, and handed her the plate. "I am not hungry," she protested, "keep it for yourself." He did not press the matter, but took his place and began to talk quietly upon the news of the day--in a composed fashion between glances at _The Times_ and mouthfuls of sole. Amaryllis controlled herself. She was too proud and too just to make a foolish scene. If this was John's way and her little effort at enticement was a failure, she must put up with it. Marriage was a lottery she had always heard, and it might be her luck to have drawn a blank. So she choked down the rising emotion and answered brightly, showing interest in her husband's remarks--and she even managed to eat some omelette, and when the business of breakfast was quite over she went to the window and John followed her there. The view which met their eyes was exquisite. Beyond the perfect stately garden, with its quaint clipped yews and masses of spring flowers and velvet lawns, there stretched the vast park with its splendid oaks and browsing deer. It was a possession which any man could feel proud to own. John slipped his arm round her waist and drew her to him. "Amaryllis," he said, and his voice vibrated, "to-day I am going to show you everything I love here at Ardayre--because I want you to love it all, too. You are of the family, so it must mean something to you, dear." Amaryllis kindled with re-awakening hope. "Indeed, it will mean everything to me, John." He kissed her forehead and murmured something about her dressing quickly, and that he would wait for her there in the cedar room. And when she returned in about a quarter of an hour in the neatest country clothes, he placed her hand on his arm and led her down the great stairs and on through the hall into the picture gallery. It was a wonderful place of green silk and chestnut wainscoting, and all the walls of its hundred feet of length were hung with canvases of value--portraits principally of those Ardayres who had gone on. Face after face looked down on Amaryllis of the same type as John's and her own--the brown hair and eyes of grey or blue. Some were a little fairer, some a little darker, but all unmistakably stamped "Ardayre."