Chapter 37

Nearly the whole of Fan's remaining time before going to Kingston was
passed at Dawson Place. Her happiness was perfect, like the sunshine she
had found resting on that dear spot on her return to it, pure, without
stain of cloud. For into Mary's vexed heart something new seemed to have
come, something strange to her nature, a novel meekness, a sweetness that
did not sour, so that their harmony continued unbroken to the end. And,
oddly enough, or not oddly perhaps, since she was not "logical," she
seemed now greatly to sympathise with Fan's growing anxiety about the
lost Constance. Not one trace of the petty jealous feeling which had
caused so much trouble in the past remained; she was heartily ashamed of
it now, and was filled with remorse when she recalled her former unkind
and capricious behaviour.

At length Fan went on her visit, not without a pang of regret at parting
so soon again, even for a short time, from the friend she had recovered.
She was anxious to hear that "strange story" about her father which the
lawyer had promised to relate; apart from that, she did not anticipate
much pleasure from her stay at Kingston.

The Travers' house was at a little distance from the town, and stood well
back on the road, screened from sight by trees and a high brick wall. It
was a large, low, old-fashioned, rambling house, purchased by its owner
many years before, when he had a numerous family with him, and required
plenty of house-room; but its principal charm to Fan was the garden,
covering about four acres of ground, well stocked with a great variety of
shrubs and flowers, and containing some trees of noble growth.

Mrs. Travers was not many years younger than her husband; and yet she did
not look old, although her health was far from good, her more youthful
appearance being due to a false front of glossy chestnut-coloured hair,
an occasional visit to the rouge-pot, and other artificial means used by
civilised ladies to mitigate the ravages of time. In other things also
she offered a striking contrast to her husband, being short and stout, or
fat; she was also a dressy dame, and burdened her podgy fingers and broad
bosom with too much gold and too many precious stones--yellow, blue, and
red; and her silk dresses were also too bright-hued for a lady of her
years and figure. Her favourite strong blues and purples would have
struck painfully on the refined colour-sense of an aesthete. On the other
hand, to balance these pardonable defects, she was kind-hearted; not at
all artificial in her manner and conversation, or unduly puffed up with
her position, as one might have expected her to be from her appearance;
and, to put her chief merit last, she reverenced her husband, and
believed that