In New York, on his way home, Penhallow received a telegram, “I am third.  John Penhallow.”  Then the Squire presented Leila with a bracelet, to the belated indignation of Aunt Ann, who was practising the most disagreeable economy.  Her husband wrote her that the best policy for a man financially in peril was to be extravagant enough to discredit belief in his need to lessen expenditure.  He was, moreover, pleasantly aware that the improving conditions of trade this summer of 1859 had enabled him to collect some large outstanding debts.  He encouraged Leila to remember their old village friends, but when he proposed a set of furs for Ann Penhallow’s winter wear Leila became ingeniously impossible about choice, and the Squire’s too lavish generosity somehow failed to materialize; but why or how was not clear to him because of their being feminine diplomatic ways—­which attain results and leave with the male a mildly felt resentment without apparent cause of defeat.

As Cadet No. 3 of his class in this year’s studies made the railway journey of a warm June day, he recalled with wondering amusement his first lonely railway travel.  “I was a perfect little snob.”  The formal, too old-mannered politeness of his childhood had left, if the child is father of the man, an inheritance of pleasant courtesy which was unusual and had varied values in the intercourse of life.  Rivers said of him later that the manner of John Penhallow’s manners had the mystery of charm.  Even when younger, at Grey Pine, he liked to talk to people, with curiosity about their lives and their work.  Now, as the train moved on, he fell into chat with the country folk who got on the train for short travel.  Soon or late they all talked politics, but ’generally guessed things would be settled somehow’—­which is the easily reached conclusion of the American.  When the old conductor, with the confidence John’s manner invited, asked what uniform he wore, John said, laughing, “Do you not remember the boy with a cane who got out at Westways Crossing?”

“You ain’t him—?? not really?  Why it’s years ago!  You are quite a bit changed.”

“For the better, I hope.”

“Well, here’s your station, and Miss Grey waiting.”

“Oh, John, glad to see you!  I told aunt no one must go for you but me.  Get in.  And Billy, look out how you drive.”

Billy, bewildered by the tall figure in cadet jacket and grey pantaloons, needed the warning.

Then there was the avenue, the big grey pine, home, and Aunt Ann’s kiss of welcome.  The old familiar life was again his.  He rode with the Squire or Leila, swam, and talked to Rivers whenever he could induce the too easily tired man to walk with him.  He was best pleased to do so when Leila was of the party.  Then at least the talk was free and wandered from poetry and village news to discussion of the last addition to the causes of quarrel between the North and South.  When tempted to speak at length, Rivers sat down.