That afternoon he took her through the Rectory--a great rambling Elizabethan house, with nineteenth-century additions. She followed him meekly from room to room, filled with wonder at the beauty of her future home. The Canon had spent much money over his collections--overmuch, some critics said--and the house was a museum of art treasures. Pictures, statuary, wood-carvings, rare furniture met her in every apartment, at every turn of the stairs. At first, the awe with which his sacerdotal character had inspired her kept her subdued, but gradually the new impressions effaced it. He spoke as if all these things were already hers--established, as it were, a joint ownership. “This is your own boudoir,” he said, as he led her into a pleasant room, overlooking the lawn and commanding a view of the Abbey. “Do you think you will be happy in it?” “I must be,” she said, gratefully. “Not only because you have given me the most beautiful room in the whole house, but because you are so good to me in all things.” “Who could help being good to you, my child?” said the Canon. He was sincere. Yvonne felt humbled and yet lifted. Her eyes dwelt for a shy moment on his. He seemed so kind, so loyal, so indulgent, and yet a man so greatly to be venerated and honoured, that all her sweet womanhood was moved. Standing, too, in this room that was to be her own, she felt the future melt into the present. Her hand slipped timidly through his arm. “I shall never know why you want me,” she said, in a low voice, “but I pray God I may be a good and loving and obedient wife to you.” “Amen, dear,” said the Canon, kissing her. CHAPTER X--COUNSELS OF PERFECTION So Yvonne was married, and for six months was completely happy. Fulminster and the county entertained her, and she entertained Fulminster and the county. Her husband petted her and relieved her of serious responsibilities. She won the hearts of Mrs. Dirks the housekeeper, of Jordan the gardener, and Fletcher the coachman, three autocrats in their respective spheres of influence--victories whereby she controlled the menu, filled the house with whatever flowers struck her fancy, and had out the horses at the moment of her caprice. Her quick wit soon obtained a grasp upon domestic affairs and her headship in the household was a practical fact which the Canon proudly recognised. Her social duties she performed with the tact born of simplicity. Mrs. Winstanley went away raging after her first dinner-party. She had expected a consoling proof of incapacity and had witnessed a little triumph of hostess-ship.