And at this point, some ten days after Kingston’s understanding with Isabel, her inquiries brought Gundred face to face with the revelation that the drains of Ivescar were of an Early Victorian Tudor design no less pronounced than the style of its architecture. The discovery filled her with consternation. Her husband had confessed the day before to a sore throat. Diphtheria at once painted itself grimly on her imagination. Their stay at Ivescar must immediately end. With a strenuous exertion of character she swept Kingston and Isabel into harmony with her own determination, and the next morning they fled from Yorkshire. There was only one place for them to go to while the sanitary inspectors got to work. The London house was impossible--a desolation of painters and builders. They must return to Brakelond. Accordingly to Brakelond Gundred carried her acquiescent flock, and they took up their residence once again in the little wooden wing that jutted out over the sea. And so three more days passed, drifting Kingston and Isabel insensibly nearer to the inevitable catastrophe. In their fantastic ecstasy they were heedless of peril. But without some intervention of fate their path led downwards towards disaster, though they might ignore or angrily deny the fact even to themselves or each other.
At Brakelond some of the old reflected strength came back to Gundred. She became, once more, rather the châtelaine than the glorified housekeeper. Her mind, less distracted by congenial cares, was able to devote itself with all its might to what she called, to herself, the recapture of her husband. She talked, claimed his attention, attempted metaphysical flights. Her efforts aroused in him sad laughter, irritation, and pity. They were tragically futile as ever--futile in the very nature of the case, no less than in the limitations of Gundred’s character. The situation drifted on and on. As for Isabel, Gundred not only tried to copy her methods, but to monopolize her company. She sat with her, took her for drives, kept her at her side as much as possible, flattering herself all the time that her manœuvres were imperceptible. Isabel, secure in her secret supremacy, allowed herself to be captured, and, in the superficial victory of Gundred, found an added joy in her own hidden amusement.