As for Gundred, she lost her head, lost it completely, in the complete surprise that overwhelmed her. Imagining that a meal or so at Brakelond would mark the extent of her husband’s ridiculous fancy for the boy against whom her instinct so urgently warned her, she had been content to allow matters their course, considering resistance unnecessary. And now, while she acquiesced, matters had suddenly grown to such a pitch that resistance was no longer possible. The situation had passed beyond her control. At first she could hardly believe that Kingston really meant to disregard her hostility. Hitherto, through all their married life, husband and wife had never seriously clashed. A quiet tolerance towards each other’s plans had marked their relations. In fact, neither had really been sufficiently excited over the other’s actions ever to make a fuss. They trusted each other, and lived in the amity of confident indifference. Ideal as their union had been, though, it had been the union of two parts, not fused, but cemented; now at last, after twenty years, surged up the hot water of opposition, and in the moment of trial the cement revealed itself by melting. At a touch the two lives fell apart, and were separate once more. The revelation was a shock to Gundred. ‘Kingston,’ she cried, ‘I tell you, I distrust that young man. I cannot think what you mean by proposing to have him in the house. The very moment I set eyes on him I felt that there was something wrong about him. A woman’s instinct is never mistaken, Kingston.’ ‘Oh, don’t be so ridiculous, Gundred,’ answered her husband. ‘Have you anything definite to say? If so, say it, by all means, and we’ll think no more of the matter. But if you have not, don’t dishonour yourself by making scenes and abusing a young fellow of whom you know nothing but what is perfectly good.’ ‘And Jim?’ replied Gundred, taken at a disadvantage, and stripped in an instant of the lovely calm that usually clothed her like a Paquin frock--‘my Jim? Am I to see my only child, Kingston, handed over to the company of a man against whom I have the very strongest feelings of fear and horror? Kingston, I tell you I look on that young man with positive fear and horror. Have I ever said anything like this before about anyone else? Do you think I am mad enough and unchristian enough to take prejudices like this without a reason? But it is stronger than I am, this feeling. It is so strong that I feel it would be wicked to disregard it. It is Heaven’s warning to us all. I know that it speaks the truth, Kingston; don’t be so obstinate.’