Lionel's face brightened up amazingly; he had been looking forward to saying good-bye at the station with anything but joy. "I should be delighted--if I am not in the way," was his prompt answer. "Oh, Honnor and I are entirely by ourselves at present," said this elderly lady with the silver-white hair. "We are expecting Lady Adela and her sisters this week, however; and perhaps my son will come down later on." "Are they back from Scotland?" "They arrive to-morrow, I believe." "And Lady Adela's novel?" "Oh, I don't know anything about that," said she, with a good-humored smile. "Surely she can't have written another novel already!" When they got into the station, a footman was awaiting them, but they had no bags or baggage of any description; they walked a little way along the platform and entered the carriage; presently they were driving away down to the sea-front. What Honnor Cunyngham thought of the arrangement, it is impossible to say, but the invitation was none of her giving: no doubt it was merely a little compliment in acknowledgment of Mr. Moore's kindness of the preceding night. However, when the barouche pulled up in front of a house in Adelaide Crescent, Mr. Moore had his own proposal to make. "It seems so pleasant down there," said he, looking towards the wide stretches of greensward and the promenade along the sea-wall, where the people, just come out of church, were strolling to and fro; "every one appears to be out--don't you think we should have a little walk before going in?"