I can say." His mother and sisters also asked him a question
or two; but when he became mysterious they did not persevere. "Of course
it is something about Florence," said Fanny. "I'll be bound he is going
to meet her. What will you bet me, Harry, you don't go to the play with
Florence before you come home?" To this Henry deigned no answer; and
after that no more questions were asked.

He went up to London and took rooms in Bolton street. There was a pretty
fresh-looking light drawing-room, or, indeed, two drawing-rooms, and a
small dining-room, and a large bedroom looking over upon the trees of
some great nobleman's garden. As Harry stood at the window it seemed so
odd to him that he should be there. And he was busy about everything in
the chamber, seeing that all things were clean and well ordered. Was the
Woman of the house sure of her cook? Sure; of course she was sure. Had
not old Lady Dimdaff lived there for two years, and nobody ever was so
particular about her victuals as Lady Dimdaff. "And would Lady Ongar
keep her own carriage?" As to this Harry could say nothing. Then came
the question of price, and Harry found his commission very difficult.
The sum asked seemed to be enormous. "Seven guineas a week at that time
of the year?" Lady Dimdaff had always paid seven guineas. "But that was
in the season," suggested Harry. To this the woman replied that it was
the season now. Harry felt that he did not like to drive a bargain for
the Countess, who would probably care very little what she paid, and
therefore assented. But a guinea a day for lodgings did seem a great
deal of money. He was prepared to marry and commence housekeeping upon a
less sum for all his expenses. However, he had done his commission, had
written to Lady Clavering, and had telegraphed to Paris. He had almost
brought himself to write to Lady Ongar, but when the moment came he
abstained. He had sent the telegram as from H. Clavering. She might
think that it came from Hugh, if she pleased. He was unable not to
attend specially to his dress when he went to meet her at the Victoria
Station. He told himself that he was an ass--but still he went on being
an ass. During the whole afternoon he could do nothing but think of what
he had in hand. He was to tell Florence everything, but had Florence
known the actual state of his mind, I doubt whether she would have been
satisfied with him. The train was due at 8 p.m. He dined at the Oxford
and Cambridge Club at