Still later, that same morning, Derek and Sheila moved slowly up the Mallorings' well-swept drive.

Their lips were set, as though they had spoken the last word before battle, and an old cock pheasant, running into the bushes close by, rose with a whir and skimmed out toward his covert, scared, perhaps, by something uncompromising in the footsteps of those two.
Only when actually under the shelter of the porch, which some folk thought enhanced the old Greek-temple effect of the Mallorings' house, Derek broke through that taciturnity: "What if they won't ?" "Wait and see; and don't lose your head, Derek." The man who stood there when the door opened was tall, grave, wore his hair in powder, and waited without speech.
"Will you ask Sir Gerald and Lady Malloring if Miss Freeland and Mr.
Derek Freeland could see them, please; and will you say the matter is urgent ?" The man bowed, left them, and soon came back.
"My lady will see you, miss; Sir Gerald is not in.

This way." Past the statuary, flowers, and antlers of the hall, they traversed a long, cool corridor, and through a white door entered a white room, not very large, and very pretty.

Two children got up as they came in and flapped out past them like young partridges, and Lady Malloring rose from her writing-table and came forward, holding out her hand.

The two young Freelands took it gravely.