That night there was more outward show of conviviality in the cold Hall dining-room than there had been for many a day. Everybody drank champagne, and all the gentlemen made speeches with the exception of Henry, who contented himself with wishing health and happiness to Edward and his sister. “You see,” Mr. Levinger whispered to him in the drawing-room, “I did well to caution you to be patient with the foibles of your future brother-in-law, and I was not far out in a surmise that at the time you may have thought impertinent.” Henry shrugged his shoulders and made no answer. After dinner Lady Graves, who always retired early, vanished to her room, Sir Reginald and Mr. Levinger went to the library, and Henry, after wandering disconsolately for a while about the great drawing-room, in a distant corner of which the engaged couple were carrying on a _tête-à-tête,_ betook himself to the conservatory. Here he chanced upon Emma. To-night she was dressed in white, wearing pearls upon her slender neck; and seated alone upon a bench in the moonlight, for the conservatory was not otherwise illuminated, she looked more like a spirit than a woman. Indeed, to Henry, who came upon her unobserved, this appearance was much heightened by a curious and accidental contrast. Immediately behind Emma was a life-sized marble replica of one of the most beautiful of the statues known to ancient art. There above this pale and spiritual maiden, with outstretched arms and alluring lips stood the image of Aphrodite, triumphing in her perfect nakedness. Henry looked from one to the other, speculating as to which was the more lovely of these types of the spirit and the flesh. “Supposing,” he thought to himself, “that a man were obliged to take his choice between them, I wonder which he would choose, and which would bring him the greater happiness. For the matter of that, I wonder which I should choose myself. To make a perfect woman the two should be merged.” Then he came forward, smiling at his speculation, and little knowing that before all was done this very choice would be forced upon him. “I hope that I am not disturbing you, Miss Levinger,” he said; “but to tell you the truth I fled here for refuge, the drawing-room being engaged.” Emma started, and seeing who it was, said, “Yes, I thought so too; that is why I came away. I suppose that you are very much pleased, Captain Graves?” “What pleases others pleases me,” he answered grimly. “_I_ am not going to marry Mr. Milward.” “Why don’t you like him?” she asked. “I never said I did not like him. I have no doubt that he is very well, but he is not quite the sort of man with whom I have been accustomed to associate—that is all.” “Well, I suppose that I ought not to say it, but I do not admire him either; not because he was rude to me last night, but because he seems so coarse. I dislike what is coarse.”