He was very quiet and subdued in manner during the next few days, spending all his leisure time at home. Some two years previously he had taken a fancy to teach himself German, but had grown tired of it in a couple of months, as he had grown tired of so many other hobbies in his time. He now hunted out his books again, and began to brush up his half-forgotten knowledge. His mother was delighted at the new industry: it gave her so much more of him at home. The evening of the twelfth arrived, and Lady Cleeve and Philip drove over to the Vicarage in a fly. The brougham of fat, good natured Dr. Downes was just turning from the door after setting down its master. Lady Cleeve went into a room to take off her warm coverings, and Philip waited for her in the little hall. "What, you here!" he exclaimed, as Captain Lennox entered. "Ay. Why not?" "I should have fancied this house would be too quiet for you," returned Philip. "There will be no Camberley--no high play here." Captain Lennox stroked his fair moustache, and looked at Philip with an amused smile. "My good sir, do you suppose I must live ever in a racket? Mr. Kettle was good enough to invite me, and I had pleasure in accepting. As to Camberley--his play goes a little further at times than I care for." A pretty flush mounted to Maria's cheek as she met Philip; his laughing hazel eyes seemed to have a meaning in them, the pressure of his hand was more emphatic than usual. They had not seen much of each other lately. No direct words of love had yet passed between them, but there was a sort of tacit understanding on both sides that one day they would in all probability become man and wife; needing no assurance in set phrases that they would be true to each other and wait till circumstances should be propitious. Of late, however, Philip's visits to the Vicarage had been few and far between. Rumours had reached Maria of evenings spent in the billiard-room of the Rose and Crown, and of his frequent presence at The Lilacs. When Maria thought of Margaret Ducie's attractions, her heart grew sad. The dinner guests numbered a dozen--all pleasant people. One or two handsome girls were there, but Philip had eyes for Maria only. "How nice she looks!" he thought; "how pure, how candid! What is it that constitutes her nameless charm? It cannot be her beauty." No, for Maria had not very much of that. It was the goodness that shone from every line of her countenance. Dinner over, the Vicar and a few of his guests retired to his study for a sober hand at whist, leaving the drawing-room free for music and conversation: and so the evening passed on.