he fault?"

"There came a man."

"Whom you disliked?"

"Who was a bore."

"Could you not shut him up?"

"No; nor shake him off. I did at last do that, but it was by turning
round and riding backwards when we were coming home. I had just
invited him to ride on while I stood still,--but he wouldn't."

"Did it come to that?"

"Quite to that. I actually turned tail and ran away from him;--not
as we ordinarily do in society when we sneak off under some pretence,
leaving the pretender to think that he has made himself very
pleasant; but with a full declaration of my opinion and intention."

"Who was he?"

That was the question. Hampstead had come there on purpose to say who
the man was,--and to talk about the man with great freedom. And he
was determined to do so. But he preferred not to begin that which he
intended to be a severe accusation against his friend till they were
walking together, and he did not wish to leave the house without
saying a word further about Marion Fay. It was his intention to dine
all alone at Hendon Hall. How much nicer it would be if he could dine
in Paradise Row with Marion Fay! He knew it was Mrs. Roden's custom
to dine early, after church, on Sundays, so that the two maidens who
made up her establishment might go out,--either to church or to their
lovers, or perhaps to both, as might best suit them. He had dined
there once or twice already, eating the humble, but social, leg
of mutton of Holloway, in preference to the varied, but solitary,
banquet of Hendon. He was of opinion that really intimate
acquaintance demanded the practice of social feeling. To know a man
very well, and never to sit at table with him, was, according to his
views of life, altogether unsatisfactory. Though the leg of mutton
might be cold, and have no other accompaniment but the common
ill-boiled potato, yet it would be better than any banquet prepared
simply for the purpose of eating. He was gregarious, and now felt a
longing, of which he was almost ashamed, to be admitted to the same
pastures with Marion Fay. There was not, however, the slightest
reason for supposing that Marion Fay would dine at No. 11, even were
he asked to do so himself. Nothing, in fact, could be less probable,
as Marion Fay never deserted her father. Nor did he like to give any
hint to his friend that he was desirous of further immediate intimacy
with Marion. There would be an absurdity in doing so which he did
not dare to perpetrate. On