Then Mrs Dale went round to the other room, and admitted her visitor through the window of the drawing-room.  “We are in terrible confusion, John, are we not?

“And so you are really going to live in Guestwick?”

“Well, it looks like it, does it not?  But, to tell you a secret,—­only it must be a secret; you must not mention it at Guestwick Manor; even Bell does not know;—­we have half made up our minds to unpack all our things and stay where we are.”

Eames was so intent on his own purpose, and so fully occupied with the difficulty of the task before him, that he could hardly receive Mrs Dale’s tidings with all the interest which they deserved.  “Unpack them all again,” he said.  “That will be very troublesome.  Is Lily with you, Mrs Dale?”

“Yes, she is in the parlour.  Come and see her.”  So he followed Mrs Dale through the hall, and found himself in the presence of his love.

“How do you do, John?” “How do you do, Lily?” We all know the way in which such meetings are commenced.  Each longed to be tender and affectionate to the other,—­each in a different way; but neither knew how to throw any tenderness into this first greeting.  “So you’re staying at the Manor House,” said Lily.

“Yes; I’m staying there.  Your uncle and Bell came yesterday afternoon.”

“Have you heard about Bell?” said Mrs Dale.

“Oh, yes; Mary told me.  I’m so glad of it.  I always liked Dr Crofts very much.  I have not congratulated her, because I didn’t know whether it was a secret.  But Crofts was there last night, and if it is a secret he didn’t seem to be very careful about keeping it.”

“It is no secret,” said Mrs Dale.  “I don’t know that I am fond of such secrets.”  But as she said this, she thought of Crosbie’s engagement, which had been told to every one, and of its consequences.

“Is it to be soon?” he asked.

“Well, yes; we think so.  Of course nothing is settled.”

“It was such fun,” said Lily.  “James, who took, at any rate, a year or two to make his proposal, wanted to be married the next day afterwards.”

“No, Lily; not quite that.”

“Well, mamma, it was very nearly that.  He thought it could all be done this week.  It has made us so happy, John!  I don’t know anybody I should so much like for a brother.  I’m very glad you like him;—­very glad.  I hope you’ll be friends always.”  There was some little tenderness in this—­as John acknowledged to himself.

“I’m sure we shall,—­if he likes it.  That is, if I ever happen to see him.  I’ll do anything for him I can if he ever comes up to London.  Wouldn’t it be a good thing, Mrs Dale, if he settled himself in London?”

“No, John; it would be a very bad thing.  Why should he wish to rob me of my daughter?”

Mrs Dale was speaking of her eldest daughter; but the very allusion to any such robbery covered John Eames’s face with a blush, made him hot up to the roots of his hair, and for the moment silenced him.