In the intoxication of her society, every thing was forgotten or disregarded. In vain were his father’s repeated injunctions, that he should return home; in vain his self-reproaches at losing, in idleness, some of the best years of his life. And it was only when alarming accounts of Lord Arlingford’s health roused his better feelings, that he was induced to tear himself away from Greece, whither Lady Florence and her passive, accommodating husband had accompanied him; and, in the middle of winter, to set off for England with the hope and promise that they would join him there early in spring. Six years had now elapsed since Lord Fitzhenry had left home. His person, character, manners—all had changed. His “Little Wife” was nearly forgotten; and when she did chance to cross his mind, he looked upon his engagement with her as a mere joke of childhood, and trusted his father would do the same. From Italy, where he found the accounts of Lord Arlingford were still very alarming, he travelled day and night to make up for past negligence, and found his parent on his arrival, but slowly recovering from a very dangerous illness. Real feeling and affection broke forth from Fitzhenry’s selfish, worldly father, on again beholding his son; and beholding him, as in truth he was, a son to be proud of. Lord Arlingford’s illness, by weakening his nerves, had given to his manners an appearance of sentiment unusual to him; and Ernest almost wondered how he could have been such a monster as so long to have deserted him. A constant visitor in his father’s sick room, he found Mr. Benson. With a feeling not unmixed with remorse he warmly thanked him for having supplied his place, and inquired after Mrs. and Miss Benson, as after old friends of his boyhood. “Well, quite well,” said Mr. Benson; “but Emmeline is so grown, that you will hardly know her again: however she is not altered in any way, I assure you; she has not forgotten her old playfellow;” and he looked cunningly into Fitzhenry’s face, to observe the effect of this flattering assurance. “You have been a sad rambler, Lord Fitzhenry,” he continued; “but now you are returned to old England, we shall, I hope, all live comfortably together; and I am sure you will be quite delighted with Emmy, although perhaps she is not just like your foreign madams; but none the worse for that I suspect—they don’t make such good wives; and now that you have, as I may say, sown your wild oats,” he added with a laugh, “you will not be sorry to sit down at home and enjoy a little home-bred, quiet English comfort.”