And so the pleasant August days went by, and Mark visited his old friends, the farmers, enjoying the gathering-in of the harvest, the golden lights of the sun, the heavy whispering of the trees, and all the harmonies of country life, a thousand times the more for the contrast with the city life he had been leading for the last nine months. There was but one thing in which he was disappointed—he wanted to spend a large part of his handsome salary in the decoration of his mother’s cottage; but both his mother and Eveline were unaccountably indifferent to it, and Mrs. Fenner at last put him past the idea by saying that if there should be changes in Manchester-square, it might be desirable, for Eveline’s sake, that she should go to town for a few months, and then he could come and stay with them. So Mark went back to town refreshed and happy. He was too much engrossed with his work to note all that was being done at Manchester-square, and too modest to ask questions; but the conviction of impending change grew on him. So September passed, and October, with its bracing days and shortened evenings, was come. It was already the fifth, and Mark, after a rather hasty breakfast, was about to start for town, when Mr. Echlin said— “Mark, you’ll be sure to be home in time to dress for dinner. I expect some friends—ladies.” “Certainly, sir,” said Mark, and went his way, thinking that now it was coming, and wondering that he had not heard from his mother for nearly a week. Business, which had been slack in August and September, was very brisk again. Mark’s work was increasing in interest and importance; he had several important proofs to read and a long journey to take in the afternoon. It was already a quarter to six as he let himself in at Manchester-square. He glanced into the dining-room; all looked bright and cosy, and a crisp fire sent out a rosy, joyous, frolicsome radiance, that was very pleasant to see. The table was laid for four. Mark was hungry enough to regard even the dinner rolls with satisfaction, and to eye the mats with a vague wonder as to what dishes were to be set on them—a warm odour of roasting meat rose from the culinary region. “Is Mr. Echlin in, Martin?” he inquired of the butler, who was putting a finishing touch to his table. “Yes, sir, dinner at six sharp. The ladies are dressing.” “Oh, indeed; they have come then?” “Yes, sir, we druv to meet ’em at four o’clock; the train was five minutes late.” “Hullo! Mark, only just in,” called Mr. Echlin over the banisters. “Make haste, lad, we’re as hungry as hunters.” And Mark ran up three stairs at a time and plunged into the work of the toilette, too busy to wonder who the ladies might be.