He rose, as he said these last words, and walked to the window.  Mrs. Treherne was called away at the same moment, and he stood gazing out at the strip of garden before the house, the Birdcage Walk beyond, the trees in the Park blowing about against the dull sky.  His thoughts were not there; they had wandered away to the tropics, to the glowing skies, the strange lands, the wild, free life in which his soul delighted.  He was glad to find himself in England once more, amongst kindred and friends, but he loathed the thought of being henceforth tied down to a life from which all freedom would be banished, which must be spent in the dull routine of a country parish.  Graham was not now the lad who had once looked on the world as lying at his feet, on all possibilities as being within his grasp; he had long ceased to be a hero in his own eyes; he had learnt one of life’s sternest lessons, he had touched the limits of his own powers.  But in thus gaining the knowledge of what he could not do, he had also proved what he could be—­he had recognised the bent of his genius, and he knew that of all the mistakes of his life he had committed none more grievous than that of binding himself to a woman who neither sympathised nor pretended to sympathise with him and his pursuits; and in compliance with whose wishes he was preparing to take up the life for which, of all others within the limits of his profession, he felt himself the least suited.  And she?  Did she care for him?—­did she love him enough to make it worth the sacrifice?—­was there the least chance of their ever being happy together?  Ah! what lovers’ meeting had that been that had passed between them at his sister’s house!  What half-concealed indifference on her side, what embarrassment on his, what silence falling between them, what vain efforts to shake off an ever-increasing coldness and constraint!  It was five years since they had parted—­was it only years and distance that had estranged them, or had they been unsuited to each other from the beginning?  Not even now would Graham acknowledge to himself that it was so, but it was a conviction he had been struggling against for years.

“Will you take some tea, Monsieur Horace?” said a voice behind him.  He turned round.  The grey daylight was fading into grey dusk, afternoon tea had been brought in, and Madelon was standing by him with a cup in her hand.  “Aunt Barbara has gone out, and will not be home till dinner-time,” she added, as she returned to the tea-table and fireside.

“Then you and I will drink tea together, Madelon,” said Graham, seating himself in an arm-chair opposite to her.  “Where have you been all this afternoon?  Have you been out too?”

“I have been to a singing-class.  I generally go twice a-week when we are in town.”

“And do you like it?”

“Yes, I like it very much.”