He woke from his dream to conditions favourable to peace of mind; a rippling sea, a sunny shore, and a day that promised to be cloudless. They breakfasted in a verandah looking seawards, the children seemed to miss something but said nothing; and Caroline’s manner showed an improved change. Reserve and deference mingled with tenderness when she spoke to him. When she suggested plans for the day she was shy and a little nervous: for now her conscience was troubled: she had Davidina on her mind, and was expecting the reply-telegram. She had sent off the message without consulting him, under what she now felt to be a misapprehension. If Davidina wired that she was coming she would have to break it to him; and fearing that the news would not please him, she put off the evil moment as long as possible. Her immediate anxiety was to get him out of the house before the arrival of the telegram. This she managed to do: and all day nursed her guilty secret that Davidina would arrive by a late train to know what was the matter. And as a consequence, as much as possible she avoided him. Meanwhile Mr. Trimblerigg was thinking. Immediate conditions were conducive to a quiet examination of the problem; but though temporarily at ease, he was not getting more reconciled to the prospect. He had been long accustomed to hear and speak of people being overtaken in sin; but it had never entered his mind that, by a similar involuntary capitulation to a stronger power, they could also be overtaken in goodness--still less in goodness of so conspicuous a character, attaching itself like a disease, independent of the will. ‘The white flower of a blameless life’ was a poetic phrase which, like that other about sin, had passed into the currency of the language: and mentally he had always been able to wear it, and feel the better for the consciousness that it was there. But it was a different matter when becoming visible and almost concrete, it turned into an evening primrose, catching him by the hair of his head, and refusing to let go. Martin’s question, ‘Is Father a holy man?’ was a child’s way of putting it; but substantially it was so much his own point of view about the visitation now afflicting him, that he began to wonder whether he might not get rid of it by ceasing to be holy. If he went into the kitchen and kissed the charwoman, if he made himself drunk, if he went down to the marine parade and extracted cigarettes from the automatic slot-machine by inserting metal discs instead of pennies, or if--to make the matter worse--he were to add sacrilege to dishonesty, go into the church and rob the poor box--if he did those or other similar things, would this outward expression of his sanctity take itself off--go away and leave him?