odest respect which had
restrained him from any speech regarding it. Poor Johnny! But he
was young,--hardly as yet out of his hobbledehoyhood,--and he would
easily recover this blow, remembering, and perhaps feeling to his
advantage, some slight touch of its passing romance. It is thus women
think of men who love young and love in vain.

But Johnny Eames himself, as he rode back to Guestwick, forgetful
of his spurs, and with his gloves stuffed into his pocket, thought
of the matter very differently. He had never promised to himself
any success as to his passion for Lily, and had, indeed, always
acknowledged that he could have no hope; but now, that she was
actually promised to another man, and as good as married, he was not
the less broken-hearted because his former hopes had not been high.
He had never dared to speak to Lily of his love, but he was conscious
that she knew it, and he did not now dare to stand before her as one
convicted of having loved in vain. And then, as he rode back, he
thought also of his other love, not with many of those pleasant
thoughts which Lotharios and Don Juans may be presumed to enjoy when
they contemplate their successes. "I suppose I shall marry her, and
there'll be an end of me," he said to himself, as he remembered a
short note which he had once written to her in his madness. There had
been a little supper at Mrs Roper's, and Mrs Lupex and Amelia had
made the punch. After supper, he had been by some accident alone with
Amelia in the dining-parlour; and when, warmed by the generous god,
he had declared his passion, she had shaken her head mournfully,
and had fled from him to some upper region, absolutely refusing
his proffered embrace. But on the same night, before his head had
found its pillow, a note had come to him, half repentant, half
affectionate, half repellent,--"If, indeed, he would swear to her
that his love was honest and manly, then, indeed, she might even
yet,--see him through the chink of the doorway with the purport of
telling him that he was forgiven." Whereupon, a perfidious pencil
being near to his hand, he had written the requisite words. "My
only object in life is to call you my own for ever." Amelia had her
misgivings whether such a promise, in order that it might be used as
legal evidence, should not have been written in ink. It was a painful
doubt; but nevertheless she was as good as her word, and saw him
through the chink, forgiving him for his impetuosity in t