“O, you needn’t expect Beacham yet,” said Arthur, laughing; “he is shaking hands with everybody, right and left. That’s what comes of being popular. It would be long enough before all those fellows wanted to shake hands with me. Ah, there he is! You will let me see you safe into the carriage? By heavens! what are all those fellows going to do?” he exclaimed, as a number of young men and boys, who had crowded round the brougham, gave evident tokens of preparing for an ovation. Already the coachman--one of John Beacham’s most trusted retainers--was off his box, and had taken his professional stand by the head of the powerful, high-stepping bay mare, whose traces were hanging loosely at her sides, and who was beginning to manifest very decided symptoms of impatience. Honor was greatly agitated--her nerves, like all those of persons who _feel_ deeply, were not strong--and the shout of welcome which had brought tears to her eyes, and a _globus hystericus_ to her delicate throat, was still tingling in her ears. Arthur felt her hand tremble, and her breath come quick and pantingly from her parted lips. He feared she was going to faint, and in his exasperation made matters worse by swearing at the crowd, and devoting to perdition the authors of her annoyance. At that moment (the whole affair had not occupied many minutes) John Beacham, hot, red-faced, and happy, made his appearance. He laughed heartily, having no suspicion of his wife’s distress, at what was going forward. “Fire away, boys!” he cried to the strong men who had already taken the Wild Woman’s place in the shafts. “Rather you than me, this warm day, anyhow!--Jump in, Honor;” and then, looking round at his wife, he saw with dismay how pale she was. “Never mind, Pet; they’re good fellows, and they won’t be long about it.--Now then, away with you!--Good-bye, Mr. Vavasour;” and Arthur, standing by, his eyes fixed on the white frightened face within the carriage, saw, as in a dream, the laughing, shouting throng, and in the midst of it, moving slowly onward, the dark-green brougham that bore the lovely Honor to her home. “By ----” he muttered to himself, as he gathered up the reins of his dog-cart, “to think that such beauty as that should be wasted on a boor!” CHAPTER X. HOW THE “OLD LADY” TOOK IT.