The heavy feeling that oppressed Garwood in church, the chill that checked the felicity he felt himself now entitled to, remained with him. At times he would forget and become happy, but as soon as he was conscious that he was happy, he would remember that there was some reason why he should not be happy, and then his memory would swiftly bring back to him the thing he had done. By afternoon this constant recurrence irritated him, and he half pitied himself, thinking it unjust that he should be thus annoyed when he was so anxious to be contented and at peace, especially after all the sacrifices he had made to his mother's wishes during the last sixteen hours. And so when he set out in the clear, shining afternoon to go to Emily, he resolved to throw off this feeling; to cast it from him; to have done with it for all time. Physically he expressed this resolve by the fling of his head, and the way he set his shoulders back, holding them high with the will to be all he wished to be. The house-maid was out for her Sunday afternoon holiday, and Emily herself swung back the door in answer to Garwood's ring. The girl smiled radiantly when she saw him and, with a lover's pretense about her spiritual prescience of all his movements, said she knew it was he at the door. He told her that she had never looked so beautiful before, and there was much of truth in this, for she wore, with an effect of having shown it at church for the first time that morning, a new fall suit, the skirt of which vouched for the jacket that had been laid aside for the greater comfort of a blue silk bodice, which billowed modestly at her young breast, giving her an air of slightness and accentuating the delicacy of her whole person. Her eyes and cheeks were bright with health and her lover's coming, so that her natural color, which made the wearing of dark costumes an easy thing for her, was thereby heightened. In the moment they lingered in the hall, she laid her soft hands on his shoulders, reaching up to him with a smile of propitiation to say: "Dade's here." She was pleased when he frowned his jealous disapproval. "How long's she going to stay?" he said bluntly. "Not long," she replied. "She won't stay when she knows you're here. Why didn't you let me know you were coming?" "I didn't know it myself," he said. "I came on a telegram from Rankin, and I ought to go right out again, only--I had to stay and see you." She purred an instant in the embrace into which he drew her and then quickly hushed him by pointing toward the drawing-room.