as he had seen it in other, more
cursory Junes. It was a greeting he appreciated; it seemed friendly and
pointed, added to the exhilaration of his finished book, of his having
his own country and the huge oppressive amusing city that suggested
everything, that contained everything, under his hand again. "Stay at
home and do things here--do subjects we can measure," St. George had
said; and now it struck him he should ask nothing better than to stay at
home for ever. Late in the afternoon he took his way to Manchester
Square, looking out for a number he hadn't forgotten. Miss Fancourt,
however, was not at home, so that he turned rather dejectedly from the
door. His movement brought him face to face with a gentleman just
approaching it and recognised on another glance as Miss Fancourt's
father. Paul saluted this personage, and the General returned the
greeting with his customary good manner--a manner so good, however, that
you could never tell whether it meant he placed you. The disappointed
caller felt the impulse to address him; then, hesitating, became both
aware of having no particular remark to make, and convinced that though
the old soldier remembered him he remembered him wrong. He therefore
went his way without computing the irresistible effect his own evident
recognition would have on the General, who never neglected a chance to
gossip. Our young man's face was expressive, and observation seldom let
it pass. He hadn't taken ten steps before he heard himself called after
with a friendly semi-articulate "Er--I beg your pardon!" He turned round
and the General, smiling at him from the porch, said: "Won't you come in?
I won't leave you the advantage of me!" Paul declined to come in, and
then felt regret, for Miss Fancourt, so late in the afternoon, might
return at any moment. But her father gave him no second chance; he
appeared mainly to wish not to have struck him as ungracious. A further
look at the visitor had recalled something, enough at least to enable him
to say: "You've come back, you've come back?" Paul was on the point of
replying that he had come back the night before, but he suppressed, the
next instant, this strong light on the immediacy of his visit and, giving
merely a general assent, alluded to the young lady he deplored not having
found. He had come late in the hope she would be in. "I'll tell
her--I'll tell her," said the old man; and then he added quickly,
gallantly: "You'll be givi