‘Yes, Roger and I have knocked about together a good deal. We know the best and the worst of each other, I fancy; and if you can stick together after that it means that you are friends.’ ‘Yes, I suppose so. He looks—he has an original-looking face. Is he clever?’ ‘Yes, he is very clever. He has a career before him—at least——’ ‘At least?’ ‘I believe I was going to say he would have, if he were not engaged to Ada Dixon; but I don’t see that she need hinder him so much, after all.’ ‘I do not know Mr. Camm, of course; but I should not imagine she was his equal, if he is really a clever and able man.’ ‘I fear you are right. But Roger has crotchets, and one of them is, that he is a working man. In a way, he is, as we all are, or ought to be; but his father was a clergyman of the Church of England. He is never going to be anything else, according to his own theory; and working men, from what he says, must marry in their own sphere, or else they will always be in a false position, and “getting into lumber,” as he calls it.’ ‘Well, there may be a good deal in that; but from what I saw of Miss Dixon that afternoon, I should think she was the last person to be a suitable wife for a real working man. She seemed to feel herself quite outside anything of that kind.’ ‘Of course. She is outside anything of that kind, practically. But Roger wants to marry her, and, of course, theories are elastic, under certain circumstances. I suppose he was going out to Balder Hall now, to fetch her home.’ ‘Yes,’ said Eleanor, and they did not pursue the topic. They were now very near Thorsgarth; a few minutes more brought them to its gates, and as they rode up the avenue, Eleanor suddenly said, in an extinguished voice— ‘How _tired_ I am! I never was so tired in my life before.’ He was silent. They stopped before the door, over which burned a light. Eleanor’s hands dropped on her lap, as she sat still and tired out. Michael dismounted and came to her to lift her from her horse. ‘Won’t you ring?’ said she; ‘then they will send the men round, and save you any more trouble.’ ‘Let me do my own way,’ said he, lifting her down. For a moment, just one moment, he held her in his arms, and as the light fell upon her, he thought he had never seen so sad and proud an expression on any woman’s face. Something rose in his throat for a moment. Then, just as he turned to put his hand on the bell, she said— ‘Stop one moment. I am very tired, and cannot talk to-night; but there is something that I must speak to you about. Yes, I must,’ she added, almost vehemently. ‘All the way I have been thinking of it; I can never rest till I have asked you about it. Will you call to-morrow afternoon? Would you very much mind? I will not keep you long.’ ‘I will call,’ said he, after a very brief pause. ‘At what hour?’ ‘Shall we say four? I think you are exceedingly good. I—I cannot thank you.’