After hours spent in such moods, it was not pleasant to come by accident upon Walderhurst riding his fine chestnut, erect and staid, and be saluted by the grave raising of his whip to his hat.  Or to return to the Farm just as the Palstrey barouche turned in at the gate with Lady Walderhurst sitting in it glowing with health and that enjoyable interest in all things which gave her a kind of radiance of eye and colour.

She came at length in a time when she did not look quite so radiant.  This, it appeared, was from a reason which might be regarded as natural under the circumstances.  A more ardent man than Lord Walderhurst might have felt that he could not undertake a journey to foreign lands which would separate him from a wife comparatively new.  But Lord Walderhurst was not ardent, and he had married a woman who felt that he did all things well—­that, in fact, a thing must be well because it was his choice to do it.  His journey to India might, it was true, be a matter of a few months, and involved diplomatic business for which a certain unimpeachable respectability was required.  A more brilliant man, who had been less respectable in the most decorous British sense, would not have served the purpose of the government.

Emily’s skin had lost a shade of its healthful freshness, it struck Hester, when she saw her.  There was a suggestion of fulness under her eyes.  Yet with the bright patience of her smile she defied the remote suspicion that she had shed a tear or so before leaving home.  She explained the situation with an affectionally reverent dwelling upon the dignity of the mission which would temporarily bereave her of her mate.  Her belief in Walderhurst’s intellectual importance to the welfare of the government was a complete and touching thing.

“It will not be for very long,” she said, “and you and I must see a great deal of each other.  I am so glad you are here.  You know how one misses—­” breaking off with an admirable air of determined cheer—­“I must not think of that.”

Walderhurst congratulated himself seriously during the days before his departure.  She was so exactly what he liked a woman to be.  She might have made difficulties, or have been sentimental.  If she had been a girl, it would have been necessary to set up a sort of nursery for her, but this fine amenable, sensible creature could take perfect care of herself.  It was only necessary to express a wish, and she not only knew how to carry it out, but was ready to do so without question.  As far as he was concerned, he was willing to leave all to her own taste.  It was such decent taste.  She had no modern ideas which might lead during his absence to any action likely to disturb or annoy him.  What she would like best to do would be to stay at Palstrey and enjoy the beauty of it.  She would spend her days in strolling through the gardens, talking to the gardeners, who had all grown fond of her, or paying little visits to old people or young ones in the village.  She would help the vicar’s wife in her charities, she would appear in the Manor pew at church regularly, make the necessary dull calls, and go to the unavoidable dull dinners with a faultless amiability and decorum.