On the morning of the second Sunday, John got up early, in order to cope with a new necktie that he had purchased in Hanbridge.  Nevertheless he found Robert afoot before him, and Robert, by some unlucky chance, was wearing not merely a new necktie, but a new suit of clothes.  They breakfasted in their usual august silence, and John gathered from a remark of Robert’s to Maggie when she brought in the boots that Robert meant to go to chapel.  Now, Robert, being a commercial traveller and therefore a bit of a caution, did not attend chapel with any remarkable assiduity.  And John, in the privacy of his own mind, blamed him for having been so clumsy as to choose that particular morning for breaking the habits of a lifetime.  Still, the presence of Robert in the pew could not prejudicially affect John, and so there was no genuine cause for gloominess.

After a time it became apparent that each was waiting for the other to go.  John began to get annoyed.  At last he made the plunge and went.  Turning his head halfway up Oldcastle Street, opposite the mansion which is called ‘Miss Peel’s’, he perceived Robert fifty yards behind.  It was a glorious June day.

He blushed as he entered chapel.  If he was nervous, it may be accorded to him as excuse that the happiness of his life depended on what he should see within the next few minutes.  However, he felt pretty sure, though it was exciting all the same.

To reach the Hessian pew he was obliged to pass Miss Emery’s.  And it was empty!  Robert arrived.

The organist finished the voluntary.  The leading tenor of the choir put up the number of the first hymn.  The minister ascended the staircase of the great mahogany pulpit, and prayed silently, and arranged his papers in the leaves of the hymn-book, and glanced about to see who was there and who was presumably still in bed, and coughed; and then Miss Annie Emery sailed in with that air of false calm which is worn by the experienced traveller who catches a train by the fifth of a second.  The service commenced.

John looked.

She was wearing white roses.  There could be no mistake as to that.  There were about a hundred and fifty-five white roses in the garden of her hat.

What a thrill ran through John’s heart!  He had won Annie, and he had won the fortune.  Yes, he would give Robert the odd five thousand pounds.  His state of mind might even lead him to make it guineas.  He heard not a word of the sermon, and throughout the service he rose up and sat down several instants after the rest of the congregation, because he was so absent-minded.

After service he waited for everybody else to leave, in order not to break his promise to the divine Annie.  So did Robert.  This ill-timed rudeness on Robert’s part somewhat retarded the growth of a young desire in John’s heart to make friends with poor Bob.  Then he got up and left, and Robert followed.

They dined in silence, John deciding that he would begin his overtures of friendship after he had seen Annie, and could tell Robert that he was formally engaged.  The brothers ate little.  They both improved their minds during their repast—­John with the Christian Commonwealth, and Robert with the Saturday cricket edition of the Signal (I regret it).