When Artingale had finished the front of the house he went round to the back, made his way by some mysterious means into the garden, where he fancied he saw some one watching; and concluding that it would not be pleasant to be seen, he beat a retreat, and after a glance up at Cynthia's window, where he could see a light, he contented himself by walking slowly back, so as to get to the other side of the lofty row of houses. "Just one walk up and down," he said to himself, "and then home to bed." It was some distance round, and as he went along he made the following original observation:--"This is precious stupid!" And at the end of another fifty yards--"But somehow I seem to like it. Does one good. 'Pon my soul, I think the best thing a fellow can do is to fall in love." He sauntered on from gas-lamp to gas-lamp, till he was once more at the front, or back, of the great houses, with their entrance-doors on his right, and a great blank-looking wall on his left. He went dreamily on along the pavement, past the furnished house that the agent assured the Rector he had obtained dirt cheap, which no doubt it was, but it was what a gold-miner would call wash dirt. When about midway, Artingale passed some one on the other side, close to the wall, and walking in the opposite direction. But the presence of some one else in the street did not attract Artingale's attention, and he sauntered along until he reached the end, and stopped. "Now, then," he said, "home? or one more walk to the end and back?" He hesitated for a moment, and then turned beneath the lamp-post, with a smile at his own weakness, and walked slowly back. "I should have made a splendid _Romeo_," he said. "What a pity it is that the course of my true love should run so jolly smooth. Everything goes as easy as possible for me. Not a single jolly obstacle. Might have been married to-morrow morning if I had liked, and sometimes I wish I had been going to act as principal; but it is best as it is." He was nearing the Rector's residence once again. "Now with some people," he continued, half aloud, "how different it is. Everything goes wrong with them. Look at poor old Magnus--The deuce! Why, Mag!" "I thought you had gone home!" "I thought you had gone home!" "I thought I would have a walk first," said Magnus, quietly. "So did I, old fellow. But oh, I say!" "Don't laugh at me, Harry," said the artist, sadly. "It is like saying good-bye. After to-morrow I shall settle down." "I don't laugh at you, old fellow," said Artingale, taking the other's arm. "It's all right. I might just as well ask you not to laugh at me. Have a cigar?"