New ideas were set revolving in her.  Dartrey and Victor grew to a likeness; they became hazily one man, and the mingled phantom complimented her on her preserving a good share of the beauty of her youth.  The face perhaps:  the figure rather too well suits the years! she replied.  To reassure her, this Dartrey-Victor drew her close and kissed her; and she was confused and passed into the breast of Mrs. Burman expecting an operation at the hands of the surgeons.  The train had stopped.  ‘Penhurst?’ she said.

‘Penhurst is the next station,’ said the gentleman.  Here was a theme for him!  The stately mansion, the noble grounds, and Sidney!  He discoursed of them.

The handsome lady appeared interested.  She was interested also by his description of a neighbouring village, likely one hundred years hence to be a place of pilgrimage for Americans and for Australians.  Age, he said, improves true beauty; and his eyelids indicated a levelling to perform the soft intentness.  Mechanically, a ball rose in her throat; the remark was illuminated by a saying of Colney’s, with regard to his countrymen at the play of courtship.  No laughter came.  The gentleman talked on.

All fancies and internal communications left her.  Slowness of motion brought her to the plain piece of work she had to do, on a colourless earth, that seemed foggy; but one could see one’s way.  Resolution is a form of light, our native light in this dubious world.

Dudley Sowerby opened her carriage-door.  They greeted.

‘You have seen Nesta?’ she said.

’Not for two days.  You have not heard?  The Miss Duvidneys have gone to Brighton.’

‘They are rather in advance of the Season.’

She thanked him for meeting her.  He was grateful for the summons.

Informing the mother of his betrothed, that he had ridden over from Cronidge, he speculated on the place to select for her luncheon, and he spoke of his horse being led up and down outside the station.  Nataly inquired for the hour of the next train to London.  He called to one of the porters, obtained and imparted the time; evidently now, as shown by an unevenness of his lifted brows, expecting news of some little weight.

‘Your husband is quite well?’ he said, in affection for the name of husband.

‘Mr. Radnor is well; I have to speak to you; I have more than time.’

‘You will lunch at the inn?’

‘I shall not eat.  We will walk.’

They crossed the road and passed under trees.

’My mother was to have called on the Miss Duvidneys.  They left hurriedly; I think it was unanticipated by Nesta.  I venture . . . you pardon the liberty . . . she allows me to entertain hopes.  Mr. Radnor, I am hardly too bold in thinking . . .  I trust, in appealing to you . . . at least I can promise!

’Mr. Sowerby, you have done my daughter the honour to ask her hand in marriage.’