The more he saw of this lady, the more attached he grew to her. She attracted him in a hundred ways by her gentleness, her delicacy of thought, her ever-present sympathy with distress and with all that was good and noble, and by the quaintness and culture of her mind. For these and many other reasons he could imagine no woman whom he should prefer to marry were he fortunate enough to win her. But always when he thought of it two spectres seemed to rise and stand before him—one of Joan, passionate, lovely and loving, and the other shaped like a roll of parchment and labelled “Mortgages, Sixty thousand pounds!” At length the ten days of his stay came to an end, and upon a certain morning the old Rosham coachman appeared at the door of Monk’s Lodge to drive him home again. “I don’t know how to thank you, Levinger,” he said, “for your kindness and hospitality to me here. I have not had such a good time for many a long day. It has been a rest to me, and I have come to the conclusion that rest is the best thing in the whole world. Now I must go back to face my anxieties.” “Meaning the eleventh of October?” said Mr. Levinger. “Yes, meaning the eleventh of October and other things. I am sure I do not know what on earth I am to do about those farms. But I won’t begin to bore you with business now. Good-bye, and again, many thanks.” “Good-bye, Graves, and don’t fret. I dare say that something will turn up. My experience is that something generally does turn up—that is to say, when one is the right side of forty.” “Oh, Sir Henry!” said Emma, appearing at the door of the drawing-room, “will you take a note to your sister for me? It is just ready.” “Certainly,” he answered, following her to the writing-table. “It is about my going to town with her next month,” she went on. “I have been speaking to my father, and he says that I may if I like. It is a question of trousseau—not that I know anything about such matters, but I am glad of the excuse for a change. Are you going with her?” “I don’t know. An old messmate of mine always gives a dinner at the Rag on the twentieth, to celebrate an adventure in which we were concerned together. I had a letter from him the other day asking me to come. I haven’t answered it yet, but if you like I will accept. I believe you go up on the eighteenth, don’t you?” Emma coloured faintly. “Of course it would be pleasant if you came,” she answered. “We might go to some picture galleries, and to the British Museum to look at those Egyptian things.” “All right,” said Henry; “we’ve got to get there first. And now good-bye. I can assure you that I shall never forget your goodness to me.” “The goodness is on your side, Sir Henry: it is very kind of you to have come to see us.” “And it is very nice of you to say so, Miss Levinger. Again good-bye, or rather _au revoir._” CHAPTER XXIII. A NEW DEPARTURE.