He did not recognise her, but as he passed on he did recognise Mr Onesiphorus Dunn, and stopped to speak to him.  Or it might have been that Crosbie’s friend Fowler Pratt stopped with this special object—­for Siph Dunn was an intimate friend of Fowler Pratt’s.  Crosbie and Siph were also acquainted, but in those days Crosbie did not care much for stopping his friends in the Park or elsewhere.  He had become moody and discontented, and was generally seen going about the world alone.  On this special occasion he was having a little special conversation about money with his very old friend Fowler Pratt.

‘What, Siph, is this you?  You’re always on horseback now,’ said Fowler Pratt.

’Well, yes; I have gone in a good deal for cavalry work this last month.  I’ve been lucky enough to have a young lady to ride with me.’  This he said in a whisper, which the distance of Lily justified.  ’How d’ye do, Crosbie?  One doesn’t often see you on horseback or on foot either.’

‘I’ve something to do besides going to look or to be looked at,’ said Crosbie.  Then he raised his eyes and saw Lily’s side-face, and recognised her.  Had he seen her before he had been stopped on his way I think he would have passed on, endeavouring to escape observation.  But as it was, his feet had been arrested before he knew of her close vicinity, and now it would seen that he was afraid of her, and was flying from her, were he at once to walk off, leaving his friend behind him.  And he knew that she had seen him, and had recognised him, and was now suffering from his presence.  He could not but perceive that it was so from the fixedness of her face, and from the constrained manner in which she gazed before her.  His friend Fowler Pratt had never seen Miss Dale, though he knew very much of her history.  Siph Dunn knew nothing of the history of Crosbie and his love, and was unaware that he and Lily had ever seen each other.  There was thus no help near her to extricate her from her difficulty.

‘When a man has any work to do in the world,’ said Siph, ’he always boasts of it to his acquaintance, and curses his luck to himself.  I have nothing to do and can go about to see and be seen;—­and I must own that I like it.’

Crosbie was still looking at Lily.  He could not help himself.  He could not take his eyes from off her.  He could see that she was as pretty as ever, that she was but very little altered.  She was, in truth, somewhat stouter than in the old days, but of that he took no special notice.  Should he speak to her?  Should he try to catch her eye, and then raise his hat?  Should he go up to her horse’s head boldly, and ask her to let bygones be bygones?  He had an idea that of all courses which he could pursue that was the one which she would approve the best—­which would be most efficacious for him, if with her anything from him might have any efficacy.  But he could not do it.  He did not know what words he might best use.  Would it become him humbly to sue to