rebound to joy.

"Dear," said her husband anxiously, as the cab drew up at the door of the
house in Prior Street, "have you realised that poor Edith is probably
preparing to receive us with glee? Do you think you could manage to look
a little less unhappy?"

The words were a shock to her, but they did her the service of a shock
by recalling her to the realities outside herself. All the courtesies
and kindnesses she owed to those about her insisted that her bridal
home-coming must lack no sign of grace. She forced a smile.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know I was looking particularly unhappy."

It struck her that Walter was not looking by any means too happy himself.

"It doesn't matter; only, we don't want to dash her down, first thing, do
we?"

"No--no. Dear Edith. And there's Nanna--how sweet of her--and Kate, and
Mary, too."

The old nurse stood on the doorstep to welcome them; her fellow-servants
were behind her, smiling, at the door. Interested faces appeared at the
windows of the house opposite. At the moment of alighting Anne was aware
that the eyes of many people were upon them, and she was thankful that
she had married a man whose self-possession, at any rate, she could rely
on. Majendie's manner was perfect. He avoided both the bridegroom's
offensive assiduity and his no less offensive affectation of
indifference. It had occurred to him that, in the circumstances, Anne