“I’m sorry to be so completely in the minority,” said Gorham, “but that’s the way the matter strikes me. I don’t think you quite catch my point, though, Caspar,” he added, glancing at Mr. Green. At a less heated moment the company, with the possible exception of Mrs. Green, might have tacitly agreed that this was extremely probable; but now Miss Newbury, who had hitherto refrained from comment, in order to digest the problem thoroughly before speaking, came to the broker’s aid. “It seems to me, Mr. Gorham,” she said, “that your proposition is a very plain one: you claim simply that John Baker had better not have saved the child if, in order to do so, it was necessary to lose his own life.” “Precisely,” exclaimed Mr. Green, in a tone of some contempt. “Was not Mr. Gorham’s meaning that, though it required very great courage to do what Baker did, a man who stopped to think of his own wife and children would have shown even greater courage?” asked Miss Emily Vincent. She was the youngest of the party, a beautiful girl, of fine presence, with a round face, dark eyes, and brilliant pink-and-white coloring. She had been invited to stay by the Lawfords because George Gorham was attentive to her; or, more properly speaking, George Gorham had been asked because he was attentive to her. “Thank you, Miss Vincent: you have expressed my meaning perfectly,” said Gorham; and his face gladdened. He was dead in love with her, and this was the first civil word, so to speak, she had said to him during the visit. “Do you agree with him?” inquired Miss Newbury, with intellectual sternness. “And do you agree with Mr. Gorham?” asked Mrs. Lawford, at the same moment, caressingly. All eyes were turned on Emily Vincent, and she let hers fall. She felt that she would give worlds not to have spoken. Why had she spoken? “I understand what he means; but I don’t believe a man in John Baker’s place could help himself,” she said quietly. “Of course he couldn’t!” cried Mrs. Lawford. “There, Mr. Gorham, you have lost your champion. What have you to say now?” A murmur of approval went round the table. “I appreciate my loss, but I fear I have nothing to add to what has been said already,” he replied, with smiling firmness. “Although in a pitiful minority, I shall have to stand or fall by that.” “Ah, but when it came to action we know that under all circumstances Mr. Gorham would be his father’s son!” said Mrs. Lawford, with less than her usual tact, though she intended to be very ingratiating. Gorham’s father, who was conspicuous for gallantry, had been killed in the Civil War.