dered had she been
at home. In half an hour, therefore, the guest was seated at the "big
house" table, before an impromptu but excellent meal, his old room was
ready for him up-stairs, and there were even lights in the drawing-room,
which, however, he extinguished as he passed by on his way to the hall
door. He locked this door behind him, and put the key in his pocket; the
two servants were not to wait for him, they were to go back to their
cabin as soon as their work was done, taking with them the key of
another entrance.

Lucian was going to East Angels. He went through the fields, still
lighted by the after-glow, then passed into the dimness of the wood;
reaching East Angels' border, he crossed the Levels, and approached the
house through the orange walk. As he had written only to Madam Giron,
and the letter had followed her to Cuba, no one knew that he was coming.
He entered the drawing-room. And there was a cry of surprise.

The evening that followed was enlivened by animated conversation, Dr.
Kirby thought it almost a brilliant occasion. The brilliancy without
doubt had been excited by Lucian's unexpected arrival, and he had
brought his own gay spirits with him; still, they had all contributed
something, the Doctor felt; his own sentences, for instance, had
displayed not a small degree of "perspicuity." The Doctor had his own
descriptive terms, he had no idea that they had grown old-fashioned.
Garda's remarks he designated as "sprightly," Margaret's way of talking
he characterized as "most engaging;" the Doctor still praised a young
man for possessing "sensibility;" he could even restore the lost
distinction to that fallen-from-grace word "genteel." When, after one of
his visits at East Angels, he said to his little mother--he described
everything to her, partly because he liked to describe, but principally
because he was a devoted son, and did all he could to entertain
her--"The conversation, ma, during the evening was easy, animated, and
genteel," it must have been a coarse-grained person indeed who could not
appreciate the delicate aroma of that last word as used by him.

On the present occasion the conversation had been even more than this;
and when at last it was brought to a close, and the Doctor, having
indulged in a general mental review of it (especially his own share),
which made him, as glory is apt to do, extraordinarily thirsty, was
compounding a glass of orangeade to drink before going to bed, he