unately for the latter, he had commenced his
love-making when he was but little more than a boy. Lily, as she had
thought of the two together, in the days of her solitude, after she
had been deserted by Crosbie, had ever pictured to herself the lover
whom she had preferred as having something godlike in his favour,
as being far the superior in wit, in manner, in acquirement, and in
personal advantage. There had been good-nature and true hearty love
on the side of the other man; but circumstances had seemed to show
that his good-nature was equal to all, and that he was able to share
even his hearty love among two or three. A man of such a character,
known by a girl from his boyhood as John Eames had been known by Lily
Dale, was likely to find more favour as a friend than as a lover. So
it had been between John Eames and Lily. While the untrue memory of
what Crosbie was, or ever had been, was present to her, she could
hardly bring herself to accept in her mind the idea of a lover who
was less noble in his manhood than the false picture which that
untrue memory was ever painting for her. Then had come before her
eyes the actual man; and though he had been seen but for a moment,
the false image had been broken into shivers. Lily had discovered
that she had been deceived, and that her forgiveness had been asked,
not by a god, but by an ordinary human being. As regarded the
ungodlike man himself, this could make no difference. Having thought
upon the matter deeply, she had resolved that she would not marry Mr
Crosbie, and had pledged herself to that effect to friends who never
could have brought themselves to feel affection for him, even had
she married him. But the shattering of the false image might have
done John Eames a good turn. Lily knew that she had at any rate
full permission from all her friends to throw in her lot with
his,--if she could persuade herself to do so. Mother, uncle, sister,
brother-in-law, cousin,--and now this new cousin's bride that was
to be,--together with Lady Julia and a whole crowd of Allington
and Guestwick friends, were in favour of such a marriage. There
had been nothing against it but the fact that the other man had
been dearer to her; and that other fact that poor Johnny lacked
something,--something of earnestness, something of manliness,
something of that Phoebus divinity with which Crosbie had contrived
to invest his own image. But, as I have said above, John had
gradually grown, if not i