"It is excessively absurd, to be sure, on my part, I know. I cannot, by Jove! Emily Murray!" Prescott burst out as the face recurred to his memory. "Emily Murray, of course!" said the young lady, still laughing; "Why, what ages since we've met! not since you left Havering; and how's the dear Vicar and the girls? which of them are married? I should so like to see them; and you--you're in some Government Office we heard; which is it? and--" "I must come to Mr. Prescott's rescue, Emily, if you'll introduce me. You've stunned him with questions," said an elderly lady standing by. "Oh, aunt, how can you say so! James--Mr. Prescott,--I don't know which I ought to say; but I always used to say James,--this is my aunt, Mrs. Wilmslow, with whom we're staying. I say we, for papa is in town; but his gout was threatening; so he wouldn't come to-night." "My brother will be very pleased to see you, though, Mr. Prescott," said Mrs. Wilmslow; "I know he has the kindliest recollection of your father at Havering. Will you come and lunch with us to-morrow?" Mr. Prescott accepted with thanks, and Mrs. Wilmslow moved back to her party; but Emily Murray stayed behind, and they had a very long conversation; during which he settled not merely that he would lunch in Portland Place on the next day, but that he would afterwards accompany Miss Murray and some of her friends in their subsequent ride. As Miss Murray departed with her friends, Mr. Pringle came up and apologised for having left his friend so much alone. "Very sorry, old fellow, but I got into an argument with an old German buffer downstairs. Very good fellow, but spoke very shy English. Told me he was nearly eighty years old; and that he accounted for his good health by having been always in the habit of taking a walk past dinner. Took me full ten minutes to find out he meant _after_ dinner. But I say, old fellow, I'm really sorry; you must have had a very slow evening." "On the contrary," said Mr. Prescott, "I've enjoyed myself amazingly." Mr. Pringle looked hard at his friend, and whistled plaintively. CHAPTER XIX. THE OLD OR THE NEW?