This was quite enough for Geoffrey. He immediately determined to follow Janet to London, see her under her brother’s roof, and there hear from Lucius all that he could tell about Matchi or Vandeleur’s reappearance. His friend’s letter had told him so little. It would be some satisfaction to know what ground Lucius had for his belief that Matchi still lived. ‘There is an up-train from Foxley-road station at one o’clock, you say?’ he said, looking at his watch. It was now a quarter to twelve. ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘And how far is the station from here?’ ‘About three miles.’ ‘Good, I can walk that easily. I’m going to London to see mamma, Flossie. Have you any message for her?’ ‘Only that she is to come back directly, and give her fifty kisses.’ ‘You must give me the kisses first.’ Flossie obeyed, and counted out her fifty kisses methodically in the region of Mr. Hossack’s left whisker. Thus furnished, he set out again, directed by Sally, to walk to the Foxley-road station. It was hardly a polite manner in which to depart from Hillersdon, but Geoffrey relied upon a telegram to set himself right with his uncle and cousins ere they should have time to be inconvenienced or offended by his departure. A telegram from London, stating that important business had summoned him there, would be ample explanation, he considered. And the leaving behind of his portmanteaus made little difference to him, since he always had a collection of clothes, boots, brushes, and other toilet implements, in his own particular room at the Cosmopolitan, neatly stowed away in drawers inaccessible to less-privileged patrons of that house. The train which called at Foxley-road was a farmers’ train, stopped at every station, and performed the journey in a provokingly deliberate style. Not till it had passed Guildford did the engine hasten, and when Waterloo did at last loom upon his weary gaze, smoke-veiled and dingy, Mr. Hossack thought the journey one of the longest he had ever endured. He only stopped long enough to write a plausible and explanatory telegram for the pacification of his cousin Belle before plunging into a hansom, whose charioteer he directed to the Shadrack-road. That cab-ride through the busiest thoroughfares of the City was also tedious; but as the streets and the atmosphere grew duller and smokier hope brightened, and he knew that he was nearing his goal. He was only going, as it were, in search of misery, yet he had a wild longing to see the dear face, even though it was to shine upon him for the last time. The charioteer was tolerably quick of comprehension, and did not make above three false stoppages before he drew up opposite Lucius Davoren’s gate, with the big brass plate which bore his name and titles. It was growing dusk by this time, so long had been the journey, and the comfortable gleam of firelight shone through the parlour-window. That genial glow seemed to betoken occupation. She was there most likely. Geoffrey’s heart beat strong and fast.