“You will forget it all when you meet some girl that you can really love.”

“And have I not really loved you?  Well, never mind.  I have said what I came to say, and I will now go.  If it ever happens that we are down in the country together, perhaps I may see you again; but never in London.  Good-bye, Lily.”  And he put out his hand to her.

“And won’t you stay for mamma?” she said.

“No.  Give her my love, and to Bell.  They understand all about it.  They will know why I have gone.  If ever you should want anybody to do anything for you, remember that I will do it, whatever it is.”  And as he paced away from her across the lawn, the special deed in her favour to which his mind was turned,—­that one thing which he most longed to do on her behalf,—­was an act of corporal chastisement upon Crosbie.  If Crosbie would but ill-treat her,—­ill-treat her with some antenuptial barbarity,—­and if only he could be called in to avenge her wrongs!  And as he made his way back along the road towards Guestwick, he built up within his own bosom a castle in the air, for her part in which Lily Dale would by no means have thanked him.

Lily when she was left alone burst into tears.  She had certainly said very little to encourage her forlorn suitor, and had so borne herself during the interview that even Crosbie could hardly have been dissatisfied; but now that Eames was gone her heart became very tender towards him.  She felt that she did love him also;—­not at all as she loved Crosbie, but still with a love that was tender, soft, and true.  If Crosbie could have known all her thoughts at that moment, I doubt whether he would have liked them.  She burst into tears, and then hurried away into some nook where she could not be seen by her mother and Bell on their return.

Eames went on his way, walking very quietly, swinging his stick and kicking through the dust, with his heart full of the scene which had just passed.  He was angry with himself, thinking that he had played his part badly, accusing himself in that he had been rough to her, and selfish in the expression of his love; and he was angry with her because she had declared to him that she loved Crosbie better than all the world besides.  He knew that of course she must do so;—­that at any rate it was to be expected that such was the case.  Yet, he thought, she might have refrained from saying so to him.  “She chooses to scorn me now,” he said to himself; “but the time may come when she will wish that she had scorned him.”  That Crosbie was wicked, bad, and selfish, he believed most fully.  He felt sure that the man would ill-use her and make her wretched.  He had some slight doubt whether he would marry her, and from this doubt he endeavoured to draw a scrap of comfort.  If Crosbie would desert her, and if to him might be accorded the privilege of beating the man to death with his fists because of this desertion, then the world would not be quite blank for him.  In all this he was no doubt very cruel to Lily;—­but then had not Lily been very cruel to him?