It was a glorious day, the sun was touching all prosaic things with gold, and up in heaven, against the interminable blue, little white clouds sailed in dapples, such as Raphael charged with angel faces, and every face seemed to smile. Wandering across the campus, under the stately arches of the college elms, she finally reached the open country, and, realizing that even the wings of happiness are mortal, she turned homeward, choosing the avenue that led past French's place. Perhaps she hoped for reassuring signs of his coming-doors and windows thrown open and gardeners at work upon the ground-but before she got beyond the high hedge that cut off her view, a carriage, which she recognized as Stephen's, drove rapidly toward the gate, and in it sat a lady, stately and grand, but so closely veiled as to defy both sun and curiosity.