After this the lunch went off well enough. It was not an altogether cheerful meal, indeed; but then nothing at Rosham was ever quite cheerful, and probably nothing had been for generations. The atmosphere of the place, like its architecture, was oppressive, even lugubrious, and the circumstances in which the present company were assembled did not tend towards unrestrained gaiety. Ellen talked energetically of matters connected with dress, in which Emma did not seem to take any vivid interest; Lady Graves threw in an occasional remark about the drought and the prevalence of blight upon the roses; while Henry for the most part preserved a discreet, or rather an embarrassed, silence; and Mr. Levinger discoursed sweetly upon the remote and impersonal subject of British coins, of a whole potful of which it appeared that he had recently become the proud possessor. “Sir Henry has promised to come and see them, my dear,” he said to Emma pointedly, after he had at length succeeded in stirring his audience into a flabby and intermittent interest in the crown that Caractacus wore, or was supposed to wear, upon a certain piece of money. “Indeed,” she answered quickly, bending her head as though to examine the pattern of her plate. “Your father has been so kind as to ask me for the second time, Miss Levinger,” Henry remarked uneasily, “and I propose to avail myself of his invitation so soon as I am well enough not to be a nuisance that is, if it is convenient.” “Of course it will always be convenient to see you, Sir Henry Graves,” Emma replied coldly, “or indeed anybody whom my father likes to ask.” “That’s one for Henry,” reflected Ellen. “Serves him right too.” Then she added aloud: “A few days at Monk’s Lodge will be a very nice change for you, dear, and I hope that you may arrive safely this time. Would you like to take a walk round the garden, Emma, while your father smokes a cigarette?”