It had rained continuously since he left Parson's Green station on the previous night, till midday on Sunday, and in the afternoon he was lounging half asleep with a volume of verse on his knee, considering whether or not to put on his hat and go out, when Lily entered; Lily was attired for conquest, and with her broad velvet hat and pink bows looked so unlike a servant-girl that drowsy Richard started up, uncertain what fairy was brightening his room. "Please, sir, there's a young gentleman as wants to see you." "Oh!--who is it?" No one had ever called upon him before. "I don't know, sir; it's a young _gentleman_." The young gentleman was ushered in. He wore a new black frock coat, and light grey trousers which fell in rich folds over new patent-leather boots. The shortcomings of his linen, which was dull and bluish in tint, were more than atoned for by the magnificence of a new white silk necktie with heliotrope spots. He carried a silk hat and a pair of unworn kid gloves in one hand, and in the other a half-smoked cigar and a stick, with whose physiognomy Richard was quite familiar. "Hello, Jenkins!" "Good afternoon, Mr. Larch. I was just passing this way, and I thought I'd look you up." With an inclination of the head more ridiculous even than he intended, Jenkins placed his hat, stick, and gloves on the bed, and, nicely adjusting the tails of his coat, occupied a chair. The quarrel between Richard and Jenkins had been patched up a few days before. "So this is your digs. Nice large windows!" "Yes, decent windows." Although these two were on terms of almost brutal familiarity during office hours, here each felt slightly uncomfortable in the other's presence. Jenkins wiped his pallid, unhealthy face with a cambric handkerchief which he unfolded for the purpose. "Been to church this morning?" Meditatively Jenkins flicked some cigar-ash into the fire-grate, and then answered, "Yes." "I thought so." "Why?" "Because you're such a swell." "Ain't I, just!" Jenkins spoke with frank delight. "Two guineas the suit, my boy! Won't I knock 'em in the Wal--worth Road!" "But where's your ring?" Richard asked, noticing the absence of the silver ring which Jenkins commonly wore on his left hand. "Oh! I gave it to my sister. She wanted to give it to her young man." "She's engaged, is she?" "Yes--at least I suppose she is." "And when are you going to get engaged?" Jenkins emitted a sound expressive of scorn. "You don't catch me entering the holy bonds. Not this child! It ain't all lavender, you bet. I say, you know Miss Roberts at the veg--red-haired tart." Jenkins was unaware that Richard had been going regularly to the Crabtree. "I was passing the place last night just as they were closing, and I walked down to Charing Cross with her. I asked her to meet me to-day somewhere, but she couldn't." "You mean she wouldn't. Well, and what sort's she?"