Claud's own obvious, radiant content was in sharp contrast.
"Well, Claud, my dear friend, I was astonished, I confess," faltered Leon. "But I must congratulate you. You look very happy."
"Happy! I should think so. I have my heart's desire," smiled Claud. "The only times that anything has power to vex me are the moments when she is out of sight; and I believe they will always be few and far between."
Leon looked earnestly at him.
"That is happiness," he said.
Mr. Fowler and the Cranmers dined at Edge Willoughby.
It was a hot night—so sultry as to suggest the proverbial thunderstorm, though the sky was clear and starry.
All dinner-time Percivale's sad eyes haunted Wynifred uncomfortably. He seemed to be studying her own and her husband's entire sympathy with a wistful appeal, as if wondering how it was that he and Elsa had come so terribly short of it.
Mrs. Leon Percivale was in her most gracious mood. The public reception had gratified her, and to trail her new gowns up and down the familiar corridors of Edge Willoughby, to the awe of Jane Gollop and the rest of the staff of elderly retainers, was not without its charm. She wore a dazzling evening toilette, and looked like a beautiful apparition as she sat between her godfather and Claud in smiling quiescence, talking, as was her wont, very little.
The company separated early, as was their country fashion,—Wynifred to walk peacefully home to Lower House with her husband and Mr. Fowler, through the meadow foot paths.