But Emma, plunging gladly into her native element, discussed the whole house from attic to kitchen. Mr. Harper listened with a complaisant and amused look. Beginning to discern the sterling good there was in the little woman, he passed over her harmless small-mindedness; knowing well that in the wide-built mansion of human nature there must be always a certain order of beings honourable, useful, and excellent in themselves, to form the basement-story. The twilight darkened while Emma talked, the faster perhaps that her “James,” whose respected presence always restrained her tongue, was discovered to be undeniably asleep. But the young couple were excellent listeners. Nathanael still sat balancing himself on the arm of his wife's chair; his hand having dropped playfully among her curls. He joined with gaiety in all the discussions. More than once, in talking of the various arrangements of their new household, his voice faltered, and the hearts of the husband and wife seemed trembling towards one another. The conversation ended in Emma's receiving _carte-blanche_ to take the house, if practicable, that the Harpers might settle there for three months certain. “Come, this is better than I expected,” cried the worthy little woman. “We shall be neighbours, and I can teach Agatha house-keeping. She will have a nice little _ménage_, and can give a proper 'At Home' and charming wedding parties. Shall she not, Mr. Harper?” “If she wishes.” But Agatha's whispered “No,” and kind pressure of the hand, brought to him a most blissful conviction that she did _not_ wish, and that she would be, as she said, “happier living quietly at home.” _Home_! what a word of promise that sounded in both their ears! When the lights came, Mr. Thornycroft woke up; with many apologies, poor man; only, as his wife said, “Everybody knew how hard James worked, and how tired he was at night.” The two gentlemen fraternised once more. They began one of those general arguments on the history of the times, which when spoken, are intensely interesting, and being written as intensely prosy. The ladies listened in a most wife-like and pleased submission. “How well my husband talks--doesn't he?” whispered Emma, with sparkling eyes. Agatha agreed, and indeed Mr. Thornycroft's strong sense and acute judgment were patent to every one. But when Mr. Harper spoke, his clear views on every point, his trenchant but pleasant wit, by which he rounded off the angularities of argument, and above all his keen, far-seeing intellect, which dived into wondrous depths of knowledge, and invariably brought something precious to light--these things were to the young wife a positive revelation. She sat attentive, beginning to learn, what strange to say was no pain--her own ignorance, and her husband's superior wisdom. She had never before felt at once so humble and so proud.