half
animals, and the mangy pony, and the superannuated tools; pulled down
the outhouses; drained; thinned out I don't know how many guelder-roses
and elder-trees; and inside the house I turned the old kitchen into a
hall, and made a kitchen behind where the dairy was. Garage and so on
came later. But one could still tell it's been an old farm. And yet
it isn't the place that would fetch one of your artistic crew." No, it
wasn't; and if he did not quite understand it, the artistic crew would
still less; it was English, and the wych-elm that she saw from the
window was an English tree. No report had prepared her for its peculiar
glory. It was neither warrior, nor lover, nor god; in none of these
roles do the English excel. It was a comrade bending over the house,
strength and adventure in its roots, but in its utmost fingers
tenderness, and the girth, that a dozen men could not have spanned,
became in the end evanescent, till pale bud clusters seemed to float
in the air. It was a comrade. House and tree transcended any similes of
sex. Margaret thought of them now, and was to think of them through many
a windy night and London day, but to compare either to man, to woman,
always dwarfed the vision. Yet they kept within limits of the human.
Their message was not of eternity, but of hope on this side of the
grave. As she stood in the one, gazing at the other, truer relationship
had gleamed.

Another touch, and the account of her day is finished. They entered the
garden for a minute, and to Mr. Wilcox's surprise she was right. Teeth,
pigs' teeth, could be seen in the bark of the wych-elm tree--just the
white tips of them showing. "Extraordinary!" he cried. "Who told you?"

"I heard of it one winter in London," was her answer, for she, too,
avoided mentioning Mrs. Wilcox by name.

CHAPTER XXV

Evie heard of her father's engagement when she was in for a tennis
tournament, and her play went simply to pot. That she should marry and
leave him had seemed natural enough; that he, left alone, should do the
same was deceitful; and now Charles and Dolly said that it was all her
fault. "But I never dreamt of such a thing," she grumbled. "Dad took
me to call now and then, and made me ask her to Simpson's. Well, I'm
altogether off dad." It was also an insult to their mother's memory;
there they were agreed, and Evie had the idea of returning Mrs. Wilcox's
lace and jewellery "as a protest." Against what it would protest she was
no