ld, another man had intervened,
and his prize had been taken from him. Then the wretched victor had
thrown his treasure away, and he, John Eames, had been content to
stoop to pick it up,--was content to do so now. But there was
something which he felt to be unmanly in the constant stooping.
Dalrymple had told him that he was like a man who is ever writing a
book and yet never writes it. He would make another attempt to get
his book written,--an attempt into which he would throw all his
strength and all his heart. He would do his very best to make Lily
his own. But if he failed now, he would have done with it. It seemed
to him to be below his dignity as a man to be always coveting a thing
which he could not obtain.

Johnny was informed by the boy in buttons, who opened the door for
him at Lady Demolines', that the ladies were at home, and he was
shown up into the drawing-room. Here he was allowed full ten minutes
to explore the knick-knacks on the table, and open the photograph
book, and examine the furniture, before Miss Demolines made her
appearance. When she did come, her hair was tangled more marvellously
even than when he saw at the dinner-party, and her eyes were darker,
and her cheeks thinner. "I'm afraid mamma won't be able to come
down," said Miss Demolines. "She will be so sorry; but she is not
quite well to-day. The wind is in the east, she says, and when she
says the wind is in the east she always refuses to be well."

"Then I should tell her it was in the west."

"But it is in the east."

"Ah, there I can't help you, Miss Demolines. I never know which is
east, and which is west; and if I did, I shouldn't know from which
point the wind blew."

"At any rate mamma can't come downstairs, and you must excuse her.
What a very nice woman Mrs. Dobbs Broughton is." Johnny acknowledged
that Mrs. Dobbs Broughton was charming. "And Mr. Broughton is so
good-natured!" Johnny again assented. "I like him of all things,"
said Miss Demolines. "So do I," said Johnny;--"I never liked anybody
so much in my life. I suppose one is bound to say that kind of
thing." "Oh, you ill-natured man," said Miss Demolines. "I suppose
you think that poor Mr. Broughton is a little--just a little,--you
know what I mean."

"Not exactly," said Johnny.

"Yes, you do; you know very well what I mean. And of course he is.
How can he help it?"

"Poor fellow--no. I don't suppose he can help it, or he
would;--wouldn't he?"

"Of course Mr. B