They drove on, and by a wide circuit, occasionally stopping for the view, returned to the Old Tiverton Road, and so home. By this time Louis Warricombe and Mr. Moorhouse were back from their walk. Reposing in the company of the ladies, they had partaken of such refreshments as are lawful at five o'clock, and now welcomed with vivacity the later arrivals. Moorhouse was something older than Buckland, a sallow-cheeked man with forehead and eyes expressive of much intelligence. Till of late he had been a Cambridge tutor, but was now privately occupied in mathematical pursuits. Louis Warricombe had not yet made up his mind what profession to follow, and to aid the process of resolve had for the present devoted himself to physical exercise. Tea-cup in hand, Godwin seated himself by Sidwell, who began by inquiring how the drive had pleased him. The fervour of his reply caused her to smile with special graciousness, and their conversation was uninterrupted for some minutes. Then Fanny came forward with a book of mosses, her own collection, which she had mentioned to Peak as they were talking together in the carriage. 'Do you make special study of any science?' Sidwell asked, when certain remarks of Godwin's had proved his familiarity with the things he was inspecting. 'It is long since I worked seriously at anything of the kind,' he answered; adding in a moment, 'except at chemistry--that only because it is my business.' 'Organic or inorganic chemistry?' inquired Fanny, with the promptness of a schoolgirl who wishes to have it known that her ideas are no longer vague. 'Organic for the most part,' Godwin replied, smiling at her. 'And of the most disagreeable kind.' Sidwell reflected, then put another question, but with some diffidence. 'I think you were once fond of geology?' It was the first allusion to that beginning of their acquaintance, ten years ago. Peak succeeded in meeting her look with steadiness. 'Yes, I still like it.' 'Father's collections have been much improved since you saw them at Thornhaw.' 'I hope Mr. Warricombe will let me see them.' Buckland came up and made an apology for drawing his friend aside. 'Will you let us send for your traps? You may just as well have a room here for a night or two.' Perpetually imagining some kind chance that might associate him with civilised people, Godwin could not even pack his portmanteau for a ramble to Land's End without stowing away a dress suit. He was thus saved what would have been an embarrassment of special annoyance. Without hesitation, he accepted Buckland's offer, and named the hotel at which the luggage was deposited. 'All right; the messenger shall explain. Our name's well enough known to them. If you would like to look up my father in his study, he'll be delighted to go over his collections with you. You still care for that kind of thing?' 'Most certainly. How can you doubt it?' Buckland smiled, and gave no other reply.