mail-train down to Guestwick.

How his mother was up to receive him at four o'clock in the morning,
how her maternal heart was rejoicing at seeing the improvement in
his gait, and the manliness of appearance imparted to him by his
whiskers, I need not describe at length. Many of the attributes of
a hobbledehoy had fallen from him, and even Lily Dale might now
probably acknowledge that he was no longer a boy. All which might be
regarded as good, if only in putting off childish things he had taken
up things which were better than childish.

On the very first day of his arrival he made his way over to
Allington. He did not walk on this occasion as he had used to do in
the old happy days. He had an idea that it might not be well for him
to go into Mrs Dale's drawing-room with the dust of the road on his
boots, and the heat of the day on his brow. So he borrowed a horse
and rode over, taking some pride in a pair of spurs which he had
bought in Piccadilly, and in his kid gloves, which were brought out
new for the occasion. Alas, alas! I fear that those two years in
London have not improved John Eames; and yet I have to acknowledge
that John Eames is one of the heroes of my story.

On entering Mrs Dale's drawing-room he found Mrs Dale and her eldest
daughter. Lily at the moment was not there, and as he shook hands
with the other two, of course, he asked for her.

"She is only in the garden," said Bell. "She will be here directly."

"She has walked across to the Great House with Mr Crosbie," said Mrs
Dale; "but she is not going to remain. She will be so glad to see