For the first time in his life he had begun to sleep indifferently; when he had resolutely put from his mind thought of Alice and ’Arry, and seemed ready for repose, there crept out of less obvious lurking-places subtle temptations and suggestions which fevered his blood and only allured the more, the more they disquieted him.  This Sunday night was the worst he had yet known.  When he left the Walthams, he occupied himself for an hour or two in writing letters, resolutely subduing his thoughts to the subjects of his correspondence.  Then be ate supper, and after that walked to the top of Stanbury Hill, hoping to tire himself.  But he returned as little prepared for sleep as he had set out.  Now he endeavoured to think of Emma Vine; by way of help, he sat down and began a letter to her.  But composition had never been so difficult; he positively had nothing to say.  Still he must think of her.  When he went up to town on Tuesday or Wednesday one of his first duties would be to appoint a day for his marriage.  And he felt that it would be a duty harder to perform than any he had ever known.  She seemed to have drifted so far from him, or he from her.  It was difficult even to see her face in imagination; another face always came instead, and indeed needed no summoning.

He rose next morning with a stern determination to marry Emma Vine in less than a month from that date.

On Tuesday he went to London.  A hansom put him down before the house in Highbury about six o’clock.  It was a semidetached villa, stuccoed, bow-windowed, of two storeys, standing pleasantly on a wide road skirted by similar dwellings, and with a row of acacias in front.  He admitted himself with a latch-key and walked at once into the front room; it was vacant.  He went to the dining-room and there found his mother at tea with Alice and ’Arry.

Mrs. Mutimer and her younger son were in appearance very much what they had been in their former state.  The mother’s dress was of better material, but she was not otherwise outwardly changed.  ’Arry was attired nearly as when we saw him in a festive condition on the evening of Easter Sunday; the elegance then reserved for high days and holidays now distinguished him every evening when the guise of the workshop was thrown off.  He still wore a waistcoat of pronounced cut, a striking collar, a necktie of remarkable hue.  It was not necessary to approach him closely to be aware that his person was sprinkled with perfumes.  A recent acquisition was a heavy-looking ring on the little finger of his right hand.  Had you been of his intimates, ’Arry would have explained to you the double advantage of this ring; not only did it serve as an adornment, but, as playful demonstration might indicate, it would prove of singular efficacy in pugilistic conflict.

At the sight of his elder brother, ’Arry hastily put his hands beneath the table, drew off the ornament, and consigned it furtively to his waistcoat pocket.