eight o'clock before
but the gods themselves can not recall their gifts . It was one March evening six mouths later , one of those warm , still , sunshot-and-grey March evenings when elm-root are blue with violets and the air is full of the faint indeterminate scent of tree flowers , that Lawrence brought his bride home to Farringay . March weather is uncertain , and he preferred to go where he could be sure of comfort , while Isabel , having once consented to be married , left all arrangements to him . It was eight o'clock before they reached the house , and Isabel never forgot the impression which it made on her when she came in out of the bloomy twilight ; warm and dim and smelling of violets that were set about in bowls on bookcase and cabinet , while the flames of an immense wood fire on an open hearth flickered over the blue and rose of porcelain or the oakleaf and gold of morocco . She stood in the middle of an ocean of polished floor and looked round her as if she had lost her way in it , till Lawrence came to her and kissed her hands . `` Isabel , do you like the look of your new home ? '' `` Very much .