upon her mother and
herself as they stood at his door, her spite had vanished before the
sorrowful anxiety of his eyes. She had frequently declared that Mr.
Thorne was no gentleman, and that she despised him, but she knew in her
heart that he _was_ a gentleman, and she was ashamed of her mother's
behavior. Lydia was capable of being magnanimous, provided the object of
her magnanimity were a man. I doubt if she could have been magnanimous
to a woman. But Percival Thorne was a young and handsome man, and though
she did not know what his errand might be, she knew that she was not
sending him to Miss Lisle. Standing before his glass, she smoothed back
her hair with both hands, arranged the ribbon at her throat and admired
the blue earrings and a large locket which she wore suspended from a
chain. Even while she thought kindly of Mr. Thorne, and wished him well,
she was examining her complexion and her hands with the eye of a critic.
"I don't believe that last stuff is a mite of good," she said to
herself; "and it's no end of bother. I might as well pitch the bottle
out of the window. It was just as well that he'd borrowed the money of
some one else, but I'm glad I offered it. I wonder when he'll come
back?" And with that Lydia returned to her toasted cheese.

Percival had had a nervous fear of some hinderance on his way to the
station. It was so urgent that he should go by this train that the
necessity oppressed him like a nightmare. An earthquake seemed a not
improbable thing. He was seriously afraid that he might lose his way
during the five minutes' walk through familiar streets. He imagined an
error of half an hour or so in all the Brenthill clocks. He hardly knew
what he expected, but he felt it a relief when he came to the station
and found it standing in its right place, quietly awaiting him. He was
the first to take a ticket, and the moment the train drew up by the
platform his hand was on the door of a carriage, though before getting
in he stopped a porter to inquire if this were the express. The porter
answered "Yes, sir--all right," with the half smile of superior
certainty: what else could it be? Thorne took his place and waited a few
minutes, which seemed an eternity. Then the engine screamed, throbbed,
and with quickening speed rushed out into the night.

A man was asleep in one corner of the carriage, otherwise Percival was
alone. His nervous anxiety subsided, since nothing further depended upon
him till he