The words were trivial and foolish enough, but he pointed their meaning by such a searching gaze into Honor’s violet eyes, that she turned her head away abashed, and angry both with herself and him. Quickening her step, they were in another moment in full view of the “parlour” window, and then, and not till then, she took courage to reply: “John will be very sorry when you’re gone--he said so only yesterday; and--and we shall all be glad to know that you are happy. Good-bye, Mr. Vavasour, I _must_ go in now.” But suddenly recollecting the claims of her mother-in-law to respectful observance, “Won’t you come and see Mrs. Beacham before you go? She is old, you know, and old people don’t like to be overlooked.” Arthur hesitated a moment, and then declined the well-intended offer. He was in no mood for tolerating Mrs. Beacham’s old-world platitudes, and twaddling lamentations on his departure. His approaching marriage would also, as he was well aware, be brought on the _tapis_, and of that subject he had for the nonce had more than enough. Arthur was good-natured, lively, and popular--indeed, the heir was generally allowed to be far more affable than Mr. Horace--but, like most young men who are born to a “position,” and whom the world has helped to spoil, Arthur Vavasour did not “go in” much for spoiling others. If it did not interfere with his own comfort or convenience, he would be wonderfully kind and civil to a dull old man, or even to a disagreeable old woman; but as a rule, and when he was inclined to be otherwise employed, he forgot, or altogether ignored, the claims of useless people on his notice. His conduct on his departure from the Paddocks was an instance of this not uncommon peculiarity. After his interview with Honor, he was in no mood--poor fellow--for the commonplace and the tiresome. He was very sorry, he said to Honor, he hoped that she would make his excuses to Mrs. Beacham, but he was late, and dinner was waiting probably (a fib on Arthur’s part) at the Castle. So, after one long, lingering look, under which the young wife’s colour rose tumultuously, and a silent pressure of her hand, he left her to the companionship of her own not very lively thoughts.