Oh, but it was fine, to unpack one’s own box—to lay out one’s clothes in long, cedar-wood drawers, fronted with curved polished mahogany; to draw back the neat muslin blinds from lattice-paned windows that had always been Arden windows; to look out, as so many Ardens must have done, over land that, as far as one could see, had belonged to one’s family in old days. That it no longer belonged hardly mattered at all to the romance of hearts only ten and twelve years old.
“THE CHILDREN WENT IN THE CARRIER’S CART.”
Then to go down one’s own shallow, polished stairs (where portraits of old Ardens hung on the wall), and to find the cloth laid for dinner in one’s own wainscoted parlour, laid for two.
I think it was nice of Edred to say, the moment Mrs. Honeysett had helped them to toad-in-the-h
