In the meantime Rendel, in a very different frame of mind from that of his father-in-law, or, indeed, from that of his own of the night before, filled with a buoyant thrill of expectation, with the sense that something was going to happen, that everything might be going to happen, was looking out into life as one who looks from a watch tower waiting on fortune and circumstances, waiting confident and well-equipped without a misgiving. The day was big with fate: a day on which new developments might continue for himself, the thrill of excitement of the night before, the sense of being in the foreground, of being actually hurried along in the front between the two giants who were leading the way. The dining-room was ablaze with sunshine as he came into it, and in the morning light sat Rachel, looking up at him with a smile when he came into the room.
"What an excellent world it is, truly!" said Rendel, as he came across the room.
"I am glad it is to your liking," she answered.
"You look very well this morning," said Rendel, looking at her, "which means very pretty."
"I don't feel so especially pretty," said Rachel, with something between a smile and a sigh.
"Don't you? Don't have any illusions about your appearance," said Rendel. "Don't suppose yourself to be plain, please."
"I am not so sure," said Rachel, as she began pouring out the tea.
"What is the matter with you?" said Rendel. "What fault do you find with the world, and your appearance?"
"I am perturbed about my father," she said, her voice telling of the very real anxiety that lay behind the words. "I don't think he is as well as he was yesterday."