Suddenly Alizon, who looked pale and worn out with excitement, burst into a passionate flood of tears, as she leaned against her husband's breast.
"My dearest," cried Guy, in alarm, "what is the matter?"
"Nothing," she sobbed, putting her arms round his neck, "only--only I am so happy."
"You've got a curious way of showing it," said Guy, cheerfully, although his own eyes were now rather wet.
"Come, come, Alizon, you must not give way like this. You are tired after your journey and all this excitement. If Aunt Jelly were here, I'm afraid she would prescribe her favourite port wine," he added jestingly.
Alizon laughed at this, dried her eyes, and they both went inside to dress for dinner.
A very pleasant little meal they had, in the old-fashioned dining-room, with the staid faces of the family portraits staring down at their frivolous descendants. Guy made his wife drink some famous champagne, which was the special pride of the Errington cellar.
"I believe in fizz myself," he said sagely, holding his glass up to the light. "Aunt Jelly pins her faith to port, but this is quite as good and not so heavy. Look at all those ancestors of mine frowning down on us, Alizon. No doubt if they could speak they would denounce our conduct as frivolous."
"I'm very glad they can't speak then," replied Lady Errington gaily. "Perhaps, however, they appear at midnight. Do they? This place looks like a haunted house."
Guy shrugged his shoulders.