Of all his large circle of acquaintance in London, there was not one whom he cared to meet, and so he staid mostly in his room, only going out at unfashionable hours for a stroll in Kensington Gardens, and occasionally to the park, where he always sat down in the place where Bessie had sat in her faded linen when he drove by with Blanche.  Once only he joined the crowd on Saturday afternoon, and saw the elite go by, the princess with her children, the dukes and duchesses, the lords and ladies, and lastly Lady Blanche Paxton, who rode alone in her glory.

The man, who was almost an imbecile when she married him, was an idiot now, and had a keeper to look after him, and on Blanche’s face there was an expression of ennui and discontent which told Neil that she was scarcely happier than himself, even with her hundreds of thousands and her home on Grosvenor Square.

It was about this time that Neil received a most cordial letter from Grey and Bessie, urging him to spend the summer with them in Allington, and to stay as much longer as he pleased.

“Always, if you will, for our home is yours,” Bessie wrote; and after a severe conflict with his love and his pride, Neil accepted the invitation, and left England with a feeling that he might never see it again.

The voyage was a rough one, and as he was sick all the way, he had scarcely strength to stand when he reached Allington, and only excitement and sheer will kept him up until he found himself in the cool, pretty room which had been prepared for him, and which it seemed to him he could never leave again.

Just as the twilight was beginning to fall, Miss Betsey drove up the avenue, stiff, straight, and severe, in her best black silk and white India shawl, which she only wore on rare occasions.  Why she wore them now, she hardly knew, and she had hesitated a little before deciding to do so.

“I do not want the dude to think me a scarecrow,” she said to herself; “though who cares what he thinks?  I did not favor his coming, and they know it.  I told them they would have him on their hands for life, and Bessie actually said they might have a worse thing.  I don’t know about that, but I do know he will not sit down upon me.”

From this it will be seen that Miss Betsey’s attitude toward the young man was anything but friendly, as she started to make her first call upon him.

“Didn’t come down to dinner?  I don’t like that.  He will be having all his meals in his room, first you will know.  Better begin as you can hold out,” she said, sharply, and Bessie replied, with tears in her eyes: 

“Oh, auntie, don’t be so hard upon poor Neil.  You do not know how weak, and sick, and changed he is.  Just think of his lodging with Mrs. Buncher in London, and coming out as a second-class passenger.”

“Did he do that?” Miss Betsey asked, quickly, while the lines about her mouth softened as she went up stairs to meet the dude, who looked like anything but a dude as he rose to greet her, in his shabby clothes, which, nevertheless, were worn with a certain grace which made you forget their shabbiness, while his manner, though a little constrained, had in it that air of good breeding and courtesy inseparable from Neil.