There was something of the pallor of the sick-room left with him—­a slight tenuity in his hands and brightness in his eye which did him yeoman’s service.  Had he been quite robust, Cecilia might have felt that she could not justify to herself the peculiar softness of her words.  After the first quarter of an hour he was supremely happy.  His awkwardness had gone, and as he sat with his arm round Florence’s waist, he found that the little pencil-case had again been attached to her chain, and as he looked down upon her he saw that the cheap brooch was again on her breast.  It would have been pretty, could an observer have been there, to see the skill with which they both steered clear of any word or phrase which could be disagreeable to him.  One might have thought that it would have been impossible to avoid all touch of a rebuke.  The very fact that he was forgiven would seem to imply some fault that required pardon.  But there was no hint at any fault.  The tact of women excels the skill of men and so perfect was the tact of these, that not a word was said which wounded Harry’s ear.  He had come again into their fold, and they were rejoiced and showed their joy.  He who had gone astray had repented, and they were beautifully tender to the repentant sheep.

Harry staid a little too long with his love—­a little longer, at least, than had been computed, and, in consequence, met Theodore Burton in the Crescent as he was leaving it.  This meeting could hardly be made without something of pain, and perhaps it was well for Harry that he should have such an opportunity as this for getting over it quickly.  But when he saw Mr. Burton under the bright gas-lamp, he would very willingly have avoided him, had it been possible.

“Well, Harry,” said Burton, giving his hand to the repentant sheep.

“How are you, Burton?” said Harry, trying to speak with an unconcerned voice.  Then, in answer to an inquiry as to his health, he told of his own illness, speaking of that confounded fever having made him very low.  He intended no deceit, but he made more of the fever than was necessary.

“When will you come back to the shop?” Burton asked.  It must be remembered that, though the brother could not refuse to welcome back to his home his sister’s lover, still he thought that the engagement was a misfortune.  He did not believe in Harry as a man of business, and had almost rejoiced when Florence had been so nearly quit of him.  And now there was a taint of sarcasm in his voice as he asked as to Harry’s return to the chambers in the Adelphi.

“I can hardly quite say as yet,” said Harry, still pleading his illness.  “They were very much against my coming up to London so soon.  Indeed, I should not have done it had I not felt so very—­very anxious to see Florence.  I don’t know, Burton, whether I ought to say anything to you about that.”

“I suppose you have said what you had to say to the women.”

“Oh yes.  I think they understand me completely, and I hope that I understand them.”