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Penfold could express satisfaction, Mrs. Blagrove added: “I shall simply advise her not to think any more about it. Advice—that will be all!”
    Her tone removed insult from her words. Penfold retreated to prepared ground.
    â€œPerhaps you will allow me to give a brief account of myself.”
    The brevity, however, was not noticeable. Mrs. Blagrove politely refrained from registering inattention.
    â€œIn short, you are extremely eligible—the vicar told me all about you.” She paused before resuming, on another note. “Mr. Penfold! Have you noticed, as I have, that some women are predestined mothers—you can tell when they’re little girls. And some have an obvious talent for wifehood. And some—and Madge is one of these—are predestined daughters —daughters in mind and temperament even when they are very old women.”
    â€œOld maids, perhaps. But when Madge is married—”
    â€œShe’ll make her husband more unhappy than herself. Other men have thought they were in love with her, because she’s such a pretty thing. But their man’s instinct warned them that too much of her would be withheld. Haven’t you noticed how she comes to me to ask permission or advice on trifling matters?—and she’s twenty-four, remember. It’s she who insists on that sort of thing, not I. I flatter myself I’m a modern woman. I believe in complete freedom for women, single or married.”
    Penfold retained only the impression that ‘the old lady’ intended to keep the girl to herself. He was ready to fight her, tooth and claw. But there was nothing to fight. When Margaret reported back to him, he could hardly take in her words.
    â€œI’m so glad Aunt Agnes doesn’t refuse her consent. She just advises us not to. But I think—I’m sure—it’s only because she would hate to seem to be glad to get rid of me. It’s not reasonable to suppose she really wants me on her hands for ever. So, if you still feel sure that you do, Arthur—”
    Penfold expected at best some sulkiness on the part of his honorary mother-in-law. To his amazement, she kept her word to urge the girl to do what she wanted to do. Mrs. Blagrove was positively co-operative. Pursuing some dimly understood ideal of modernity, she turned her energies to detail, took competent advice in the purchase of a most comprehensive trousseau. Further, she forced the girl into the hands of a beautician for grooming and general instruction.
    The result was that Margaret’s natural beauty was brought into line with modern requirements. Julie had been ordinarily good looking—Margaret would catch the eye in any community. In Crosswater, the women would be jealous and the men would be envious. They would soon see how wrong they had been in supposing that he could not hold the interest of an attractive wife.
    On the last day of their honeymoon in Cornwall, there came a letter from Mrs. Blagrove, jointly addressed and beginning ‘My dears,’ announcing that she had sold her house in Helmstane, bought another for the same price in Crosswater and would shortly move in.
    â€œThat’s almost too good to be true!” exclaimed Margaret. “I can run round every day while you’re in London and see that she’s all right.”
    For a few seconds, Penfold hovered on the brink of protest. So that was the game! For all her amiability—for all that really broadminded trousseau—Mrs. Blagrove was hostile and intended to wreck their marriage. She would fail. Margaret’s talent for obedience, which had given him such a delightful honeymoon, would prove a two-edged sword, and—and so on!
    â€œI hope, darling,” he said, feeling extremely clever, “that Aunt Agnes will stay with us while she is moving in.”
    Mrs. Blagrove did not stay in their house, but she let Margaret help her with the move, taking scrupulous care