My uncle was still the same good-humored, pleasant man, a little afraid of his wife, it may be, but evidently master of his own house. I glanced around for Herbert, but he was not there, and when, on Anna’s account more than my own, I asked for him, I was told that he was down street, but would soon be home. Ringing a bell, my aunt bade the girl who appeared, “show the young ladies to their rooms,” which proved to be a large airy chamber with a bedroom, dressing-room, and closet adjoining. After a hasty toilet we again returned to the parlor, where we found a tall, richly dressed young man, whom I should never have recognized as Herbert Langley. He was much altered from when I last saw him: there was a deep flush on his cheeks, which had reached even to his nose; while the eyes I had once thought so handsome were watery and unsteady in their movement. On the whole, however, he was still what some would call good-looking. He was sitting with his back to the door, but at the sound of our footsteps he turned around, and coming towards us, welcomed us most cordially to Boston, calling us “cousins,” and claiming a cousin’s privilege of kissing us—me _once_, and Anna _three_ times, if not four. She was a little piqued at his neglect in answering her last letter, and wishing to show proper resentment, she drew back rather haughtily, as if wondering how he dare “take such liberties.” This he readily perceived, and instantly assuming an air quite as indifferent as her own, he turned towards me, hardly noticing her again, though it was easy to see that the reserve of both was merely affectation. That evening he was gone until nine o’clock, and when he entered the parlor, I noticed on the face of my aunt the same anxious expression which I remembered having seen there, when from our sitting-room window, she watched his return. But he was perfectly sober, and with a sigh of relief, she resumed her work; while he, coming round to my side, startled me by saying that “he had just met with a friend of mine—Dr. Clayton.” “Where did you see him?” asked Anna, while I bent lower over the book I was reading; for that name had still a power to move me strongly. “Why,” answered Herbert, “Tom Wilson, an old schoolmate of mine, boards at the Tremont, where he is now lying very sick. All the old physicians have given him up, and so he has employed this Dr. Clayton, who, it seems, has been at the same hotel for six weeks or more. I called on Tom this evening, and while I was there Dr. Clayton came in. In the course of our conversation he spoke of Meadow Brook, and then, as a matter of course, I said there were now in our family two young ladies from that place. When I mentioned Rosa’s name, he turned almost as white as Tom himself, and if she were not so young, I should be inclined to think there was something between them. What do you say, coz?” Here Anna came to my aid, saying, “Why, he’s a _married man_, and his wife is with him at the Tremont.”