"I want to drive home with mummy," said Jean. "And I mean to take Elma," said Mabel. Mrs. Leighton leant back in the carriage. "I should like to mention," she said, "that this is not a royal procession, and that we only take about two and a half minutes to get home in any case. What does it matter which carriage we go in?" "Every second is of value," said Jean. "Well, here you are, Jean, get in beside your mother," said Adelaide Maud. "And, Elma and Mabel, you come with me. And, Mr. Leighton, you look after Miss Grace. What could be more admirable?" They did it because it seemed the simplest way out, except Cuthbert, who backed into the station and came up on a cab with the luggage. He looked vindictively at Adelaide Maud as he descended, as though he would say, "This is your doing." The three conveyances were blocking the wide sweep of gravel in front of the White House. Adelaide Maud patted one of the horses’ heads in an unnecessary manner. "I must congratulate you on your professorship," said she. "Thank you," said Cuthbert. "So nice for your family too, to have you here all summer." "Excellent," said Cuthbert. "I don’t see how you can run a lectureship when you say so little." Adelaide Maud spoke very crisply, and in a nice cool manner. Cuthbert looked stolidly at the men carrying in luggage. "The students will respect me probably," he said grimly. Adelaide Maud laughed a clear ringing laugh. Then she looked at Cuthbert once "straight in the eye" and ran indoors. Cuthbert began pulling boxes about with unnecessary violence. They had tea in the drawing-room amidst the roses, for the tables were covered with them. Mabel did nothing but wander about and say, "Oh, oh, and isn’t it lovely to be home." But Jean sat right down and in a business-like manner began to describe London. Also, she was very sorry for Elma, because now she, Jean, knew what it was to be ill. She began to detail her symptoms to Elma. "Oh, Jean, you little monkey," said Mabel. "Don’t listen to her, she wasn’t ill a bit." It was the only point on which Mabel and Jean really differed. Isobel came sailing in. Nothing could have been nicer than the way she greeted them. "Oh, Isobel, aren’t you dying to hear me sing?" asked Jean. It never dawned on her but that Isobel, who had been so keen to get her off to a good master, put art first and everything else afterwards. Mrs. Leighton would never forget the way in which Mabel received her. Mabs had developed into a finely balanced woman. There was no sign of her wanting to detract in the slightest from Isobel’s happiness. "Do let me see your ring. How pretty! And how it fits your hand, just a beautiful ring. Some engagement rings look as though they had only been made for fat Jewesses. Don’t they? I love those tiny diamonds set round the big ones. Where are you going for your honeymoon?"