On his return, he proposed a game at whist; Emmeline had early learnt it to make up her father’s party, so a card-table was rung for. Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Benson were to play together, and many cruel things were said about not parting husband and wife, &c. But Fitzhenry’s behaviour that evening had been to Emmeline (in spite of his disregard of the song he had asked for) an additional draft of love, and she bore all most bravely, for she felt it was for him she was bearing it; she did not venture to observe him while all this was passing, but by the tone of his voice, he seemed to endure these trials with patience and unruffled temper. Mr. Benson and his wife won every game, for their adversaries knew little of what was going on, trumping and taking each other’s tricks with the most perfect mutual indifference. But Mr. Benson only exulted in his superior play, as chuckling, he put his daughter’s money into his pocket, and he retired to bed in high good humour. The next morning, after breakfast, Fitzhenry took Mr. Benson to show him the farm, stables, &c. and Emmeline and her mother were left together. Mrs. Benson for some time fidgetted about the room, giving dry laconic answers to all Emmeline’s observations, which she knew well, was a symptom of her working herself up to say something unusual, and she dreaded what it might be. At length, Mrs. Benson came up to her daughter, and folding her to her heart, as she printed a fond kiss on her forehead——”Well, my dear child,” she said, “I trust I see you as happy as heart—as even my foolish heart can wish?” “How can you doubt it?” answered Emmeline, greatly embarrassed by so direct a question. “You see how kind, how excellent he is”—and to avoid her mother’s anxious gaze, she stooped down to caress an old poodle of Fitzhenry’s that had lately established himself in her room. “Speak, Tiber,” said she to the dog—”Have we not a most kind master?” There was a pause, but Mrs. Benson returned to the charge. “I find you live quite _fashionably_, in separate apartments. I must say I think that is a silly new fangled, refinement which I don’t approve of at all, and I hope it is no fancy of yours?” Emmeline coloured deeply.—”Lord Fitzhenry,” she replied, “had so long lived abroad, was so used to foreign customs, that she did not wonder he liked to adopt them at home.” “But, Lord Fitzhenry was not a married man abroad, I presume?” said Mrs. Benson, forcing a laugh. Emmeline forced one too, but her lip quivered, tears came into her eyes, and again she was obliged to stoop and coax the dog. “By the bye, Emmeline,” said Mrs. Benson, after a moment’s silence, “I have brought you your work-box which you left in Harley-street; I wonder you did not miss it, for I suppose you have a good deal of time to yourself now, and are more alone than you used to be with us?”