He was indeed very comfortable.  Leaving Eglosilyan had not troubled him.  There was something in the knowledge that he was at last free from all those exciting scenes which a quiet, middle-aged man, not believing in romance, found trying to his nervous system.  This brief holiday in Eglosilyan had been anything but a pleasant one:  was he not, on the whole, glad to get away?

Then he recollected that the long-expected meeting with his betrothed had not been so full of delight as he had anticipated.  Was there not just a trace of disappointment in the first shock of feeling at their meeting?  She was certainly not a handsome woman—­such a one as he might have preferred to introduce to his friends about Kensington in the event of his going back to live in London.

Then he thought of old General Weekes.  He felt a little ashamed of himself for not having had the courage to tell the general and his wife that he meant to marry one of the young ladies who had interested them.  Would it not be awkward, too, to have to introduce Wenna Rosewarne to them in her new capacity?

That speculation carried him on to the question of his marriage.  There could be no doubt that his betrothed had become a little too fond of the handsomest young man in the neighborhood.  Perhaps that was natural, but at all events she was now very much ashamed of what had happened, and he might trust her to avoid Harry Trelyon in the future.  That having been secured, would not her thoughts naturally drift back to the man to whom she had plighted a troth which was still formally binding on her?  Time was on his side.  She would forget that young man:  she would be anxious, as soon as these temporary disturbances of her affections were over, to atone for the past by her conduct in the future.  Girls had very strong notions about duty.

Well, he drove to his club, and finding one of the bed-rooms free, he engaged it for a week, the longest time possible.  He washed, dressed and went down to dinner.  To his great delight, the first man he saw was old Sir Percy himself, who was writing out a very elaborate menu, considering that he was ordering dinner for himself only.  He and Mr. Roscorla agreed to dine together.

Now, for some years back Mr. Roscorla in visiting his club had found himself in a very isolated and uncomfortable position.  Long ago he had belonged to the younger set—­to those reckless young fellows who were not afraid to eat a hasty dinner, and then rush off to take a mother and a couple of daughters to the theatre, returning at midnight to some anchovy toast and a glass of Burgundy, followed by a couple of hours of brandy-and-soda, cigars and billiards.  But he had drifted away from that set; indeed, they had disappeared, and he knew none of their successors.  On the other hand, he had never got into the ways of the old-fogy set.  Those stout old gentlemen who carefully drank nothing but claret and seltzer, who took a quarter of an hour