When he reached ‘The Old Hall,’ it was nine o’clock. He told his wife he had stayed to dine in town, but, in truth, he had been wandering about the streets, hardly conscious of what he was doing, until the time warned him that each hour he delayed would make it more difficult to account for his prolonged absence. So he dragged himself home, and the effort he made to look like a man who was rather disgusted for having been foolish enough to take a lot of trouble for nothing, sat upon him much as a clown’s paint would sit upon a corpse. Hannah was naturally all sympathy for his disappointment and failure, and Hindes was compelled to take refuge in gruffness, to elude her searching inquiries. ‘My dearest, how ill you look, and how tired you seem. This has been a trying day for you, I am sure. So fond as you are of dear Jenny, too. And did you really not see her?’ ‘I have told you already half-a-dozen times, Hannah, that I called twice at the Castle Warden Hotel to see her, but she was out each time, so was he, so there was nothing to be done but to return home. I did not relish the idea of wasting a Sunday in hanging about Dover, perhaps with the same result, when I might be at home with you and the chicks.’ ‘Dear Henry,’ said his wife, ‘you are always so considerate of us. Still, for Jenny’s sake--if it were to lead to a reconciliation between her and her parents, I would give you up for even a longer time than that. You might have written her a letter, Henry, though.’ ‘I _did_ write, just a scribble on my card, to say I had hoped to get her to lunch with me at the Tivoli Restaurant, when we could have talked the unhappy matter over together; indeed, I had ordered lunch for two, but she was not in and they couldn’t say when she would be in, so I was obliged reluctantly to come back without seeing her. But I don’t suppose it would have been of any use. What girl would give up her lover the day after her wedding? It was a mad scheme, and quixotic in me to set out on such an errand.’ ‘No; don’t say that dear, for I am sure the old people will be glad hereafter, to think that you did all you could to bring them together.’ Henry Hindes started. ‘“Hereafter?”’ he echoed; ‘what do you mean by “hereafter?”’ ‘Nothing, my dearest, only you surely do not think the Cramptons will hold out for ever, do you? And, when they are reconciled to Jenny and we are all happy again, I am sure they will be pleased to remember (and so will she), that _you_ were the first to try and bring them together.’ ‘Oh, yes, yes! I see!’ replied her husband, as he passed his handkerchief over his brow.