furtively at the other now and then, and thinking what
terrible reproaches those firm lips might utter; how differently the
sad, kind eyes might regard him before long, and once more he longed
for a railroad crash which would set him free from his tangled life.
The journey ended at last, and they drove to South Audley Street.
Vincent was very silent; in spite of his philosophical bearing, he
felt the blow deeply. He had come back with ideas of a possible
literary career before him, and it was hard to resign them all at
once. It was rather late in the afternoon when they arrived, and
Caffyn was there to receive them; he was delighted to welcome Holroyd,
and his cordiality restored the other to cheerfulness; it is so
pleasant to find that one is not forgotten--and so rare. When Vincent
had gone upstairs to see his sleeping-room, Caffyn turned to Mark:
there was a kind of grin on his face, and yet a certain admiration
too.

'I got your telegram,' he said. 'So--so you've brought yourself to
part with him after all?'

'I thought over what you said,' returned Mark, 'and--and he told me
something which would make it very awkward and--and painful for him,
and for myself too, if he remained.'

'You haven't told him anything, then, still?'

'Nothing,' said Mark.

'Then,' said Caffyn, 'I think I shall not be alone at Wastwater after
all, if you'll only let me manage.'

Was Mark at all surprised at the languid Harold Caffyn exerting
himself in this way? If he was, he was too grateful for the phenomenon
to care very much about seeking to explain it. Caffyn was a friend of
his, he had divined that Holroyd's return was inconvenient: very
likely he had known of Vincent's hopeless attachment for Mabel, and he
was plainly anxious to get a companion at the Lakes; anyone of these
was motive enough. Soon after, Holroyd joined them in the
sitting-room. Caffyn, after more warm congratulations and eager
questioning, broached the Wastwater scheme. 'You may as well,' he
concluded, 'London's beastly at this time of year. You're looking as
if the voyage hadn't done you much good, too, and it will be grand on
the mountains just now; come with me by the early train to-morrow,
you've no packing to do. I'm sure we shall pull together all right.'

'I'm sure, of that,' said Vincent; 'and if I had nothing to keep me in
town--but I've not seen the Langtons yet, you know. And, by-the-bye,
you can tell me where I shall find them now. I suppose the