Her marriage had carried Ellen out of the narrow world of home and school into another that had seemed at first vastly larger, if only on account of its freedom from the perpetual achievement of small economies. Hitherto the urgent necessity of these had filled life with irksome precautions and clipped the wings of every dream. This new life into which Sir Isaac led her by the hand promised not only that release but more light, more colour, more movement, more people. There was to be at any rate so much in the way of rewards and compensation for her pity of him.  
She found the establishment at Putney ready for her. Sir Isaac had not consulted her about it, it had been his secret, he had prepared it for her with meticulous¹ care as a surprise. They returned from a honeymoon² in Skye in which the attentions of Sir Isaac and the comforts of a first-class hotel had obscured a marvellous background of sombre mountain and wide stretches of shining sea. Sir Isaac had been very fond and insistent³ and inseparable, and she was doing her best to conceal⁴ a strange distressful⁵ jangling of her nerves which she now feared might presently dispose her to scream. Sir Isaac had been goodness itself, but how she craved⁶ now for solitude⁷! She was under the impression now that they were going to his mother's house in Highbury. Then she thought he would have to go away to business for part of the day at any rate, and she could creep into some corner and begin to think of all that had happened to her in these short summer months.
 
They were met at Euston by his motor-car. "Home," said Sir Isaac, with a little gleam of excitement, when the more immediate⁸ luggage was aboard.
 
As they hummed through the West-End afternoon Ellen became aware that he was whistling through his teeth. It was his invariable indication of mental activity, and her attention came drifting back from her idle contemplation of the shoppers and strollers of Piccadilly to link this already alarming symptom with the perplexing fact that they were manifestly travelling west.
 
"But this," she said presently, "is Knightsbridge."
 
"Goes to Kensington," he replied with attempted indifference⁹.
 
"But your mother doesn't live this way."
 
"We do," said Sir Isaac, shining at every point of his face.
 
"But," she halted. "Isaac!—where are we going?"
 
"Home," he said.
 
"You've not taken a house?"
 
"Bought it."
 
"But,—it won't be ready!"
 
"I've seen to that."
 
"Servants!" she cried in dismay.
 
"That's all right." His face broke into an excited smile. His little eyes danced and shone. "Everything," he said.
 
"But the servants!" she said.
 
"You'll see," he said. "There's a butler—and everything."
 
"A butler!" He could now no longer restrain himself. "I was weeks," he said, "getting it ready. Weeks and weeks.... It's a house.... I'd had my eye on it before ever I met you. It's a real good house, Elly...."
 
The fortunate girl-wife went on through Brompton to Walham Green with a stunned¹⁰ feeling. So women have felt in tumbrils. A nightmare of butlers, a galaxy¹¹ of possible butlers, filled her soul.
 
No one was quite so big and formidable as Snagsby, towering up to receive her, upon the steps of the home her husband was so amazingly giving her.
 
The reader has already been privileged to see something of this house in the company of Lady Beach-Mandarin. At the top of the steps stood Mrs. Crumble¹², the new and highly recommended cook-housekeeper in her best black silk flounced and expanded, and behind her peeped several neat maids in caps and aprons¹³. A little valet-like under-butler appeared and tried to balance Snagsby by hovering¹⁴ two steps above him on the opposite side of the Victorian mediæval porch.
 
Assisted officiously by Snagsby and amidst the deferential¹⁵ unhelpful gestures of the under-butler, Sir Isaac handed his wife out of the car. "Everything all right, Snagsby?" he asked brusquely if a little breathless.
 
"Everything in order, Sir Isaac."
 
"And here;—this is her ladyship."
 
"I 'ope her ladyship 'ad a pleasent journey to 'er new 'ome. I'm sure if I may presume, Sir Isaac, we shall all be very glad to serve her ladyship."
 
(Like all well-trained English servants, Snagsby always dropped as many h's as he could when conversing¹⁶ with his superiors. He did this as a mark of respect and to prevent social confusion, just as he was always careful to wear a slightly misfitting dress coat and fold his trousers so that they creased¹⁷ at the sides and had a wide flat effect in front.)
 
Lady Harman bowed a little shyly to his good wishes and was then led up to Mrs. Crumble, in a stiff black silk, who curtseyed with a submissive amiability¹⁸ to her new mistress. "I'm sure, me lady," she said. "I'm sure——"
 
There was a little pause. "Here they are, you see, right and ready," said Sir Isaac, and then with an inspiration, "Got any tea for us, Snagsby?"
 
Snagsby addressing his mistress inquired if he should serve tea in the garden or the drawing-room, and Sir Isaac decided¹⁹ for the garden.
 
"There's another hall beyond this," he said, and took his wife's arm, leaving Mrs. Crumble still bowing amiably²⁰ before the hall table. And every time she bowed she rustled²¹ richly....
 
"It's quite a big garden," said Sir Isaac.
 
2
And so the woman who had been a girl three weeks ago, this tall, dark-eyed, slightly perplexed²² and very young-looking lady, was introduced to the home that had been made for her. She went about it with an al............