the old days.' Then the subject was dropped; and
on the next morning, John wrote to his aunt saying that he would go over
to Babington after his return from London. He was going to London on
business, and would come back from London to Babington on a day which he
named. Then he resolved that he would take Pollington on his way down,
knowing that a disagreeable thing to be done is a lion in one's path
which should be encountered and conquered as soon as possible.

But there was one visit which he must pay before he went up to London.
'I think I shall ride over to-morrow and call on the Boltons,' he said
to his father.

'Of course; you can do that if you please.'

'He was a little rough to me, but he was kind. I stayed a night at his
house, and he advanced me the money.'

'As for the money, that was a matter of business. He had his security,
and, in truth, his interest. He is an honest man, and a very old friend
of mine. But perhaps I may as well tell you that he has always been a
little hard about you.'

'He didn't approve of Davis,' said the son, laughing.

'He is too prejudiced a man to forget Davis.'

'The more he thinks of Davis, the better he'll think of me if I can make
him believe that I am not likely to want a Davis again.'

'You'll find him probably at the bank about half-past two.'

'I shall go to the house. It wouldn't be civil if I didn't call on Mrs.
Bolton.'

As the squire was never in the habit of going to the house at Chesterton
himself, and as Mrs. Bolton was a lady who kept up none of the outward
ceremonies of social life, he did not quite understand this; but he made
no further objection.

On the following day, about five in the afternoon, he rode through the
iron gates, which he with difficulty caused to be opened for him, and
asked for Mrs. Bolton. When he had been here before, the winter had
commenced, and everything around had been dull and ugly; but now it was
July, and the patch before the house was bright with flowers. The roses
were in full bloom, and every morsel of available soil was bedded out
with geraniums. As he stood holding his horse by the rein while he rang
the bell, a side-door leading through the high brick wall from the
garden, which stretched away behind the house, was suddenly opened, and
a lady came through with a garden hat on, and garden gloves, and a
basket full of rose leaves in her hand. It was the lady of whom he had
never ceased to think from the day on which