Mrs. Lennox, however, whose amiability always overcame her prudence, caught the petition in his eyes and interpreted it after her own fashion. “Dear me,” she said, “how sorry we shall be to lose you! But you really must stay to lunch. The last time! You could not do less for us than that. And we shall drink your health and wish you a happy return.” “That will do him so much good; when he must have a hundred things to do.” “The kindness will do me good. Yes, I have a hundred things to do, but since Mrs. Lennox is so kind; it will do me more good than anything,” Rivers said. His eyes were glistening as if there was moisture in them; and Rosalind, looking up and perceiving the restlessness of anxiety in his face, was affected by a sympathetic excitement. She began to realize what the position was--that he was going away, and might never see her again. She would be sorry too. It would be a loss of importance, a sort of coming down in the world, to have no longer this man--not a boy, like Roland; a man whose opinions people looked up to, who was one of the instructors and oracles of the world--depending upon her favor. There was perhaps more than this, a slightly responsive sentiment on her own part, not like his, but yet something--an interest, a liking. Her heart began to beat; there was a sort of anguish in his eyes which moved her more, she thought, than she had ever been moved before--a force of appeal to her which she could scarcely resist. But what could she do? She could not, any more than he could, clear the room of the principal persons in it, and give him the chance of speaking to her. Would she do it if she could?--she thought she would not. But yet she was agitated slightly, sympathetically, and gave him an answering look in which, in the excitement of the moment, he read a great deal more than there was to read. Was this to be all that was to pass between them before he went away? How commonplace the observations of the others seemed to them both! especially to Rivers, whose impatience was scarcely to be concealed, and who looked at the calm, every-day proceedings of the heads of the house with a sense that they were intolerable, yet a consciousness that the least sign of impatience would be fatal to him. “Are you frightened, then, Mr. Rivers, that you look so strange?” said Sophy, planting herself in front of him, and looking curiously into his face. “Sophy, how can you be so rude?” Mrs. Lennox said. “I don’t think I am frightened--not yet,” he said, with a laugh. “It is time enough when the fighting begins.” “Are you very frightened _then_? It is not rudeness; I want to know. It must be very funny to go into battle. I should not have time to be frightened, I should want to know how people feel--and I never knew any one who was just going before. Did you ever want to run away?” “You know,” said Rivers, “I don’t fight, except with another newspaper fellow, who shall get the news first.”