with something of that dreamy look
about the eyes which betrays the abstraction of the mind in a realm of
imagination, but nothing besides which could have suggested to any
spectator the presence of either mystery in the past or danger in the
future, beyond the dangers of flood or field. They were both above the
reach of need, but both with that wholesome necessity for doing which
is in English blood, and all the world before them--public duty and
private happiness, the inheritance of the class to which they belonged.
Yet to one care had come in the guise of passion; and the other was
setting out upon a second beginning, no one knew how heavily laden and
handicapped in the struggle of life.

CHAPTER XVI.

By this time London was on the eve of its periodical moment of desertion;
the fashionable people all gone or going; legislators weary and worn,
blaspheming the hot late July days, and everything grown shabby with
dust and sunshine; the trees and the grass no longer green, but brown
in the parks; the flowers in the balconies overgrown; the atmosphere all
used up and exhausted; and the great town, on the eve of holiday, grown
impatient of itself. Although fashion is but so small a part of the
myriads of London, it is astonishing how its habits affect the general
living, and how many, diversely and afar off, form a certain law to
themselves of its dictates, though untouched by its tide.

Warrender had never known anything about London. His habits were entirely
distinct from those of the young men, both high and low, who find their
paradise in its haunts and crowds. When he left Cavendish on their
arrival, not without a suggestion on Dick's part of an after meeting
which the other did not accept, for no reason but because in his present
condition it was more pleasant to him to be alone, Warrender, who did
not know where to go or what to do in order to carry out the commission
which he had so vaguely taken upon him, walked vaguely along, carrying
about him the same mist of dreams which made other scenes dim. Where was
he to find a tutor in the streets of London? He turned to the Park by
habit, as that was the direction in which, half mechanically, he was in
the habit of finding himself when he went to town. But he was still less
likely to find a tutor for Lady Markland's boy in the lessened ranks of
the loungers in Rotten Row than he was in the streets. He walked among
them with his head in the clouds, thinking of