ey
to Italy; and the importance of the cause of his journey was
satisfactory to him. But above all things he was delighted at having
found that Lily Dale was pleased at his going. He had seen clearly
that she was much pleased, and that she made something of a hero
of him because of his alacrity in the cause of his cousin. He had
partially understood,--had understood in a dim sort of way,--that
his want of favour in Lily's eyes had come from some deficiency of
his own in this respect. She had not found him to be a hero. She had
known him first as a boy, with boyish belongings around him, and she
had seen him from time to time as he became a man, almost with too
much intimacy for the creation of that love with which he wished to
fill her heart. His rival had come before her eyes for the first time
with all the glories of Pall Mall heroism about him, and Lily in her
weakness had been conquered by them. Since that she had learned how
weak she had been,--how silly, how childish, she would say to herself
when she allowed her memory to go back to the details of her own
story; but not the less on that account did she feel the want of
something heroic in a man before she could teach herself to look
upon him as more worthy of her regard than other men. She had still
unconsciously hoped in regard to Crosbie, but now that hope had been
dispelled as unconsciously, simply by his appearance. There had
been moments in which John Eames had almost risen to the necessary
point,--had almost made good his footing on the top of some moderate,
but still sufficient mountain. But there had still been a succession
of little tumbles,--unfortunate slips for which he himself should
not always have been held responsible; and he had never quite stood
upright on his pinnacle, visible to Lily's eyes as being really
excelsior. Of all this John Eames himself had an inkling which had
often made him very uncomfortable. What the mischief was it she
wanted of him; and what was he to do? The days for plucking glory
from the nettle danger were clean gone by. He was well dressed. He
knew a good many of the right sort of people. He was not in debt. He
had saved an old nobleman's life once upon a time, and had been a
good deal talked about on that score. He had even thrashed the man
who had ill-treated her. His constancy had been as the constancy of
a Jacob! What was it that she wanted of him? But in a certain way
he did know what was wanted; and now, as he start