She led the way to it，glancing at the leaves and the sky.The spring had never seemed more beautiful.The driver，who was leaning on the gate，called out，"Please，lady，a message，"and handed her Henry's visiting-card through the bars.
"How did this come？"she asked.
Crane had returned with it almost at once.
She read the card with annoyance.It was covered with instructions in domestic French.When she and her sister had talked she was to come back for the night to Dolly's."Il faut dormir sur ce sujet."While Helen was to be found "une comfortable chambre àl'h?tel."The final sentence displeased her greatly until she remembered that the Charles'had only one spare room，and so could not invite a third guest.
"Henry would have done what he could，"she interpreted.
Helen had not followed her into the garden.
The door once open，she lost her inclination to fly.She remained in the hall，going from bookcase to table.She grew more like the old Helen，irresponsible and charming.
"This is Mr.Wilcox's house？"she inquired.
"Surely you remember Howards End？"
"Remember？I who remember everything！
But it looks to be ours now."
"Miss Avery was extraordinary，"said Margaret，her own spirits lightening a little.Again she was invaded by a slight feeling of disloyalty.But it brought her relief，and she yielded to it."She loved Mrs.Wilcox，and would rather furnish her house with our things than think of it empty.In consequence here are all the library books.""Not all the books.She hasn't unpacked the Art Books，in which she may show her sense.And we never used to have the sword here.""The sword looks well，though."
"Magnificent."
"Yes，doesn't it？"
"Where's the piano，Meg？"
"I warehoused that in London.Why？"
"Nothing."
"Curious，too，that the carpet fits."
"The carpet's a mistake，"announced Helen.
"I know that we had it in London，but this floor ought to be bare.
It is far too beautiful."
"You still have a mania for under-furnishing.
Would you care to come into the dining-room before you start？There's no carpet there.
They went in，and each minute their talk became more natural.
"Oh，what a place for mother's chiffonier！"
cried Helen.
"Look at the chairs，though."
"Oh，look at them！Wickham Place faced north，didn't it？""North-west."
"Anyhow，it is thirty years since any of those chairs have felt the sun.Feel.Their little backs are quite warm.""But why has Miss Avery made them set to partners？
I shall just--"
"Over here，Meg.Put it so that any one sitting will see the lawn."Margaret moved a chair.Helen sat down in it.
"Ye-es.The window's too high."
"Try a drawing-room chair."
"No，I don't like the drawing-room so much.
The beam has been match-boarded.It would have been so beautiful otherwise.""Helen，what a memory you have for some things！
You're perfectly right.It's a room that men have spoilt through trying to make it nice for women.Men don't know what we want--""And never will."
"I don't agree.In two thousand years they'll know.""But the chairs show up wonderfully.Look where Tibby spilt the soup.""Coffee.It was coffee surely."
Helen shook her head."Impossible.Tibby was far too young to be given coffee at that time.""Was Father alive？"
"Yes."
"Then you're right and it must have been soup.
I was thinking of much later--that unsuccessful visit of Aunt Juley's，when she didn't realize that Tibby had grown up.It was coffee then，for he threw it down on purpose.There was some rhyme，'Tea，coffee--coffee，tea，'that she said to him every morning at breakfast.Wait a minute--how did it go？""I know--no，I don't.What a detestable boy Tibby was！""But the rhyme was simply awful.No decent person could have put up with it.""Ah，that greengage tree，"cried Helen，as if the garden was also part of their childhood."Why do I connect it with dumbbells？And there come the chickens.The grass wants cutting.
I love yellow-hammers--"
Margaret interrupted her."I have got it，"
she announced.'Tea，tea，coffee，tea，Or chocolaritee.'"That every morning for three weeks.No wonder Tibby was wild.""Tibby is moderately a dear now，"said Helen.
"There！I knew you'd say that in the end.
Of course he's a dear."
A bell rang.
"Listen！what's that？"
Helen said，"Perhaps the Wilcoxes are beginning the siege.""What nonsense--listen！"
And the triviality faded from their faces，though it left something behind--the knowledge that they never could be parted because their love was rooted in common things.Explanations and appeals had failed；they had tried for a common meeting-ground，and had only made each other unhappy.And all the time their salvation was lying round them--the past sanctifying the present；the present，with wild heart-throb，declaring that there would after all be a future，with laughter and the voices of children.Helen，still smiling，came up to her sister.She said，"It is always Meg."They looked into each other's eyes.The inner life had paid.
Solemnly the clapper tolled.No one was in the front.Margaret went to the kitchen，and struggled between packing-cases to the window.Their visitor was only a little boy with a tin can.
And triviality returned.
"Little boy，what do you want？"
"Please，I am the milk."
"Did Miss Avery send you？"said Margaret，rather sharply.
"Yes，please."
