Just as he had reverted to the topic of conversation which brought him here, there came a knock at the door.

'Come in!' growled Bunce.

Totty Nancarrow appeared. One of her hands led a little fellow of seven, a bright lad, munching a 'treacle-stick;' the other, a little girl a year younger, who exclaimed as she entered:

'Been a walk with Miss Nanco!'

'We've been to the butcher's with Miss Nancarrow, father,' declared the boy, consciously improving on his sister's report.

Totty had drawn back a step at the sight of Grail. He and she knew each other by sight, but had not yet exchanged words.

'I found them in the dark, Mr. Bunce,' she said, half laughing. 'Mrs.

Ladds was out, and couldn't get back in time to light the lamp for them. I hope you don't mind. I thought a little bit of a walk 'ud do them good.'

Bunce always softened at the sight of his little ones.

'I'm much obliged to you, Miss Nancarrow,' he said.

'Miss Nanco bought me sweets,' remarked little Nelly, when her father had drawn her between his knees. And she exhibited a half-sucked lollipop. Her brother hid away his own delicacy, feeling all at once that it compromised his masculine superiority.

'Then I'm very angry with Miss Nanco,' replied Bunce. 'I hope she'll never do anything o' the kind again.'

Totty laughed and drew back into the passage. Thence she said:

'Could I speak to you a minute, Mr. Bunce?'

He went out to her, and half closed the door behind him. Totty led him a step or two down the stairs, then whispered:

'I'm so sorry, Mr. Bunce, but I find I can't very well go on Saturday.

But I've just seen Miss Trent, the one that's going to marry Mr. Grail, you know; and she says she'd be only too glad to go, that is if Mr.

Grail 'll let her, and she's quite sure he will. Would you ask Mr.

Grail? Thyrza--that's Miss Trent, I mean--was so anxious; she's never been to the seaside. Will you just ask him?'

'Oh yes, I will.'

'I'm sorry I've had to draw back, Mr. Bunce, after offering--'

'It don't matter a bit, Miss Nancarrow. Miss Trent 'll do just as well, if she really don't mind the trouble.'

'Trouble! Why, she'd give anything to go! Please get Mr. Grail to let her.'

Bunce returned to his room and closed the door. Gilbert had taken Nelly on his knee, and was satisfying her by tasting the remnant of lollipop.

'I say, Jack!' cried the father, his eye again catching sight of the bruised tract on the floor. 'Who brought that here?'

'I did, father,' answered the youngster stoutly, though he saw displeasure in his father's face.

'Where did you get it, eh?' was asked sharply.

'A lady gave it me at the door.'

'Then I'd thank ladies to mind their own business. And you never take anything else at the door; do you understand that, Jack?'

'Yes, father.'

Bunce turned to Gilbert, who was waiting to depart.

'Miss Nancarrow tells me she can't go to Eastbourne on Saturday. But she says Miss Trent's very anxious to go instead of her. What do you think of it?'

Grail reflected. The plan pleased him on the whole, though he had just a doubt whether Thyrza ought to travel by herself.

'I see no reason why she shouldn't,' he said. 'It'll be a pleasure to her, and I shall be glad to have her do you the kindness.'

'Then could I see her before Saturday?'

'Come in to-morrow night, will you?'

The second course of lectures was at an end. Egremont had only delivered one a week since Christmas, and even so it cost him no little effort to spread his 'Thoughts for the Present' over the three months, Latterly he had blended a good deal of historical disquisition with his prophecy: the result was to himself profoundly unsatisfactory. He sighed with relief as he dismissed his poor little audience for the last time. For the future he had made no promises, beyond saying that in his library-building there were two rooms which were to be devoted to lectures. The library itself was now his chief care. This was something solid; it would re-establish him in his self-confidence.

Yes; 'Thoughts for the Present' had been a failure.

The first lecture was far away the best. It dealt with Religion.

Addressed to an audience ready for such philosophical views, it would have met with a flattering reception. Egremont's point of view was, strictly, the aesthetic; he aimed at replacing religious enthusiasm, as commonly understood, by aesthetic. The loveliness of the Christian legend--from that he started. He dealt with the New Testament very much as he had formerly dealt with the Elizabethan poets. He would have no appeal to the vulgar by aggressive rationalists. Let rationalism filter down in the course of time; the vulgar were not prepared for it as yet.

It was bad that they should be superstitious, but worse, far worse, that they should be brutally irreverent, and brutal irreverence inevitably came of atheism preached at the street corner. The men who preached it were themselves the very last to guide human souls; they were of coarsest fibre, without a note of music in them, fit only for the world's grosser purposes. And they presumed to attack the ministry of Christ! It was good, all that he had to say on that point, the better that it made two or three of his hearers feel a little sore and indignant. Yet, as a whole, the lecture appealed to but one of the audience. Gilbert Grail heard it with emotion, and carried it away in his heart. To the others it was little more than the sounding of brass and the tinkling of cymbals.

To-night--Friday--he was going to Grail's. Of course no ceremonious preparation was necessary, yet he wasted a couple of hours previous to his time for setting forth. He could not apply himself to anything; he paced his room. Indeed, he had paced his room much of late. Week by week he seemed to have grown more unsettled in mind. He had said to himself that all would be well when he had seen Annabel. He had seen her, and his trouble was graver than before.

At the hour when Egremont set out for Lambeth Lydia was busy dressing her sister's hair. Perhaps such a thing had never happened before, as that Thyrza's hair should have needed doing twice in one day. She had begged it this evening.

'You won't mind, Lyddy? I feel it's rough, and I think I ought to look nice--don't you?'

'You're a vain little thing!'

'I don't think I am, Lyddy. It's only natural.'

A moment or two, and Thyrza said:

'Lyddy, I think you ought to come down as well.'

'I've told you that I shan't, so do have done!'

'Well, dear, it's only because I want you to see Mr. Egremont.'

'I've seen him, and that's enough. If you're going to be a lady and make friends with grand people, that's no reason why I should.'

'You'll have to some day.'

'I don't think I shall,' said Lydia, as she began the braiding. 'You and me are very different, dear. I shall go on in my own way. _Do_ keep still! _How_ am I to tie this ribbon?'