“I am aware of it,” he said, and paused.  “Listen to me, Maria,” he continued in a moment, “let me put the case fairly before you.  If I accept Dr. Vavasour’s offer, it closes, so to speak, my career.  I shall be bound down to this country practice for life probably, for years at any rate, since, after making the arrangement, I could not feel justified in altering it again during Dr. Vavasour’s lifetime.  If, on the other hand, I go to L——­, I shall be bound to no one, and free to take anything else that might suit me better.”

“Go, then!” cried Maria, hastily, “I will not stand in your way.  I should have thought, Horace, that after all these years, you would have been glad to look forward to a quiet home and a settled life; but I see it is different, so go to L——­, and never mind me.  If it becomes a question between me and your career, I should think your choice would not be a difficult one.”

Her voice began to tremble, but she went on vehemently:  “Why do you ask my opinion at all?  It can make no difference to you; you have gone your own way these five years past without much regard for my wishes, one way or another; and since your return home, you have hardly spoken to me, much less consulted me——­”

It was at that moment that Madelon, kneeling at Madge’s bedside, began to sing, and the sound of her voice ringing through the open window of her little upper room, Graham involuntarily stopped, and lost the thread of Maria’s speech.  She perceived it at once.

“Ah! yes, that is it,” she cried passionately, hardly knowing what she said.  “Do you think I do not see, that I cannot understand?  Do I not know who it is you care to listen to now, to talk to, to consult?  Ask her what she thinks, ask Madeleine’s advice——­”

“Be silent!” cried Horace, with sudden anger, “I will not have Madeleine’s name mentioned between us in that way.  Forgive me, Maria,” he went on, more calmly, “but this sort of talk is useless; though, if I cared to recriminate, I might perhaps ask you, how it happens that Mr. Morris comes here so frequently.”

“Mr. Morris!” faltered Maria; “who told you——­”

Her momentary indignation melted into tears and sobs; she turned, and put out her hand to Graham, as they stood together under the big plane-tree.

“Oh, Horace,” she said, “I am very unhappy, and if you blame me, I cannot help it—­I daresay I deserve it.”

“My poor Molly,” he answered, taking her hand in his.  “Why should I blame you? and why are you unhappy?  Let me help you—­ unless, indeed, I am altogether the cause of it all.”