his
Christmas with a certain earl of his acquaintance, and that he too
was returning to his office. In one respect he had been much more
fortunate than poor Eames, for he had been made happy with the smiles
of his lady love. Alexandrina and the countess had fluttered about
him softly, treating him as a tame chattel, now belonging to the
noble house of de Courcy, and in this way he had been initiated into
the inner domesticities of that illustrious family. The two extra
men-servants, hired to wait upon Lady Dumbello, had vanished. The
champagne had ceased to flow in a perennial stream. Lady Rosina had
come out from her solitude, and had preached at him constantly. Lady
Margaretta had given him some lessons in economy. The Honourable
John, in spite of a late quarrel, had borrowed five pounds from him.
The Honourable George had engaged to come and stay with his sister
during the next May. The earl had used a father-in-law's privilege,
and had called him a fool. Lady Alexandrina had told him more than
once, in rather a tart voice, that this must be done, and that that
must be done; and the countess had given him her orders as though
it was his duty, in the course of nature, to obey every word that
fell from her. Such had been his Christmas delights; and now, as he
returned back from the enjoyment of them, he found himself confronted
in the railway carriage with Johnny Eames.

The eyes of the two met, and Crosbie made a slight inclination of
the head. To this Eames gave no acknowledgment whatever, but looked
straight into the other's face. Crosbie immediately saw that they
were not to know each other, and was well contented that it should be
so. Among all his many troubles, the enmity of John Eames did not go
for much. He showed no appearance of being disconcerted, though our
friend had shown much. He opened his bag, and taking out a book, was
soon deeply engaged in it, pursuing his studies as though the man
opposite was quite unknown to him. I will not say that his mind did
not run away from his book, for indeed there were many things of
which he found it impossible not to think; but it did not revert to
John Eames. Indeed, when the carriages reached Paddington, he had in
truth all but forgotten him; and as he stepped out of the carriage,
with his bag in his hand, was quite free from any remotest trouble on
his account.

But it had not been so with Eames himself. Every moment of the
journey had, for him been crowded wit