It was Helen herself who looked least illuminated by the news; but then, as Althea realised, to Helen Gerald must be the most matter-of-fact thing in life.
They were all sitting under the trees on the lawn when Gerald arrived; he had not lost the best train.

Every one was in white, except Helen who wore black, and Franklin who wore grey; every one was lolling on the grass or extended on chairs, except Aunt Julia, erect and embroidering, and Althea who was giving her attention to tea.

It had just been poured out when Gerald came strolling over the lawn towards them.
He carried his Panama hat doubled in his hand; he looked exquisitely cool, and he glanced about him as he came, well pleased, apparently, to find himself again in his old home.

Althea felt his manner of approaching them to be characteristic; it was at once so desultory and so pleasant.
'You look like a flock of doves,' he said, as, smiling, he took Althea's welcoming hand and surveyed the group.

'Hello, Helen, how are you?
Hello, Charlie; and how nice to find you, Frances.' He was introduced to the others, continuing to smile with marked approbation, Althea felt, upon Mildred and Dorothy, who certainly looked charming, and then he dropped on the grass beside Lady Pickering's chair.
Althea knew that if she looked like a dove, she felt like a very fluttering one.