remained?  Graham groaned as he bowed his head upon his crossed arms, and suddenly another vision flitted before him—­a pale face, a slender form, a pair of brown eyes that seemed to grow out of the twilight, and look at him with a child’s affection, a woman’s passion—­Graham was no boy, to be tossed about on the tempestuous waves of a first love; he had long held that there were things in life, to which love and courtship, marrying and giving in marriage, might be looked upon as quite subordinate—­and yet he felt, at that moment, as if life itself would be a cheap exchange for one touch of the small hand that had clung so confidingly to his, years ago, for one more look into the eyes that had met his, scarcely ten minutes since.

Such a mood could not long endure in a man of Graham’s stamp and habit of mind; and in a moment he had roused himself, and begun to walk slowly back towards the house.  What he might feel could have no practical bearing on the matter one way or another, and feeling might therefore as well be put out of sight.  He was bound to Maria by every tie of honour, and he was no man to break those ties—­if she were disposed to hold by them.  But was she indeed?  Graham had not been blind to what had been going on round him during the last few weeks, and he felt that some explanation with Maria was due.  Well, there should be an explanation, and if he found that she was still willing to hold to their engagement—­why, then they would be married.

He went up to Maria, sitting at the window.

“It is very warm in-doors,” he said; “suppose you come and take a turn in the garden.”

“As you like,” she answered; “I don’t find it particularly warm;” but she laid down her work at once, and joined him in the garden.

They took two or three turns up and down the lawn in silence, till at last Graham, trying to speak cheerfully, said, “I had a letter this morning, Maria, that I want to consult you about, as it concerns you as well as me.”

“Does it?” she said indifferently.  “Well?”

“There is an opening for a physician at that winter place for invalids on the Mediterranean,” said Graham, explaining, “and I have the offer of it; it would suit me very well, for the next year or two at any rate, and would enable us to marry at once; but my doubt, Maria, is, whether you would not object to leaving England.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with it,” answered Maria, shortly and coldly.  “Of course you will do what you think best.”

“What I might think best in the abstract, Maria, is not the point; what I want to ascertain are your wishes in the matter.”

“I should have thought you might have known already,” she replied; “you are very well aware that, for years, it has been my wish that you should have this partnership with Dr. Vavasour.”