A glance told him that there was no carriage-and-four in waiting. And because his heart was jumping so foolishly he was glad to put off the moment of speaking to her. She would go into the house to wait for the carriage, and when the coach, with its bustle and its many eyes, had gone its way, he would be able to speak to her. Accordingly, the moment the coach stopped he descended and hastened into the house. He sent out the “boots” for his valise and betook himself to the bar-parlour, where he called for something and jested cheerily with the smiling landlady, who came herself to attend upon him. He kept his back to the door which Mary must pass to ascend the stairs, for well he knew the parlour of honour to which she would be ushered. But though he listened keenly for the rustle of her skirts, a couple of minutes passed and he heard nothing. “You are not going on, sir?” the landlady asked. She knew too much of the family politics to ask point-blank if he were going to Chippinge. “No,” he replied; “no, I”—his attention wandered—“I am not.” “I hope we may have the honour of keeping you tonight, sir?” she said. “Yes, I”—was that the coach starting?—“I think I shall stay the night.” And then, “Sir Robert’s carriage is not here?” he asked, setting down his glass. “No, sir. But two gentlemen have just driven in from Sir Robert’s in a chaise. They are posting to Bath. One’s Colonel Brereton, sir. The other’s a young gentleman, short and stout. Quite the gentleman, sir, but that positive, the postboy told me, and talkative, you’d think he was the Emperor of China! That’s their chaise coming out of the yard now, sir.” A thought, keen as a knife-stab, darted through Vaughan’s mind. In three strides he was out of the bar-parlour, in three more he was at the door of the Angel. The coach was in the act of starting, the ostlers were falling back, the guard was swinging himself up; and Mary Vermuyden was where he had left her, in the place behind the coachman. And in the box-seat, the very seat which he had vacated, was Bob Flixton, settling himself in his wraps and turning to talk to her. Vaughan let fall a word which we will not chronicle. It was true, then! They were engaged! Doubtless Flixton had come to meet her, and all was over. Fan-fa-ra! Fan-fa-ra! The coach was growing small in the distance. It veered a little, a block of houses hid it, Vaughan saw it again. Then in the dusk of the October evening the descent to the bridge swallowed it, and he turned away miserable.