‘Charming, charming!’ answered Gundred, with the enthusiasm which everyone thinks it a duty to manifest for landscape, though the true intelligent passion is so rare and sacred. Then the carriage was announced, and the party from Ivescar embarked on their homeward voyage. Kingston and Isabel had not contributed much to the gaiety of the entertainment. They had been possessed with the delight that Gundred had merely expressed. To them the beauty of the world as it lay unfolded before them had been so vast and holy as to make all comment obtrusive and irreverent. Kingston had felt the unspoken sympathy of Isabel’s mood, and her silence had mitigated for a time the feverish animosity with which he regarded her. As they drove home, there was little conversation between the four. Now and then Lady Adela made some remark on Mrs. Norreys’ kindness, her charm, the successful blend of her tea. But even Gundred was feeling too serene for speech. Everything combined to make her happy. Her gown was a perfect fit, the evening was comfortable, and she was conscious of having given her hostess a flawless model to copy--in manners, conversation, hair, and hat. Of course she never doubted her faultlessness or felt a qualm, but there were moments when its lovely perfection came upon her in a compelling wave of pleasure. She sat in a rapture of satisfaction as the carriage whirled her home through the quiet sunset. Tea and a good digestion assisted the placidity of her mood, and the influences of the atmosphere collaborated to make it complete. The twilight was pink and sweet as Gundred’s own opinion of herself. Immovably tranquil, roseate and mild, it had the fascination of a drowsy fairy tale. Cowslip and bean and hawthorn sent her their tribute in wafts of fragrance. She accepted everything as her due, and felt that all the world was showing a very proper spirit in conspiring to do her honour.