As they 56 approached the manor, she was permitted to peep her head outside the chariot's front window. "Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment. Slowly and reluctantly she came to realize that Vivie Warren was what is called an “ideal. You are not my husband. He was still flashily dressed, with much obvious jewellery and the shiniest of patent boots, but his general bearing and appearance had altered for the worse. ’ She closed her mind on the possibility of finding out, and went on, ‘But me, I have been in a war, and I have won. He had taken it back.
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