When Mrs. Arabin saw Johnny in the middle of that day, she could hardly give him much encouragement. And yet she felt by no means sure that he might not succeed even yet. Lily had been very positive in her answers, and yet there had been something, either in her words or in the tone of her voice, which had made Mrs. Arabin feel that even Lily was not quite sure of herself. There was still room for relenting. Nothing, however, had been said which could justify her in bidding John Eames simply "to go in and win." "I think he is light of heart," Lily had said. Those were the words which, of all that had been spoken, most impressed themselves on Mrs. Arabin\'s memory. She would not repeat them to her friend, but she would graft upon them such advice as she had to give him.

And this she did, telling him that she thought that perhaps Lily doubted his actual earnestness. "I would marry her this moment," said Johnny. But that was not enough, as Mrs. Arabin knew, to prove his earnestness. Many men, fickle as weathercocks, are ready to marry at the moment,—are ready to marry at the moment, because they are fickle, and think so little about it. "But she hears, perhaps, of your liking other people," said Mrs. Arabin. "I don\'t care a straw for any other person," said Johnny. "I wonder whether if I was to shut myself up in a cage for six months, it would do any good?" "If she had the keeping of the cage, perhaps it might," said Mrs. Arabin. She had nothing more to say to him on that subject, but to tell him that Miss Dale would expect him that afternoon at half-past five. "I told her that you would come to wish her good-by, and she promised to see you."

"I wish she\'d say she wouldn\'t see me. Then there would be some chance," said Johnny.

Between him and Mrs. Arabin the parting was very affectionate. She told him how thankful she was for his kindness in coming to her, and how grateful she would ever be,—and the dean also,—for his attention to her. "Remember, Mr. Eames, that you will always be most welcome at the deanery of Barchester. And I do hope that before long you may be there with your wife." And so they parted.

He left her at about two, and went to Mr. Toogood\'s office in Bedford Row. He found his uncle, and the two went out to lunch together in Holborn. Between them there was no word said about Lily Dale, and John was glad to have some other subject in his mind for half an hour. Toogood was full of his triumph about Mr. Crawley and of his successes in Barsetshire. He gave John a long account of his visit to Plumstead, and expressed his opinion that if all clergymen were like the archdeacon there would not be so much room for Dissenters. "I\'ve seen a good many parsons in my time," said Toogood; "but I don\'t think I ever saw such a one as him. You know he is a clergyman somehow, and he never lets you forget it; but that\'s about all. Most of \'em are never contented without choking you with their white cravats all the time you\'re with \'em. As for Crawley himself," Mr. Toogood continued, "he\'s not like anybody else that ever was born, saint or sinner, parson or layman. I never heard of such a man in all my experience. Though he knew where he got the cheque as well as I know it now, he wouldn\'t say so, because the dean had said it wasn\'t so. Somebody ought to write a book about it,—indeed they ought." Then he told the whole story of Dan Stringer, and how he had found Dan out, looking at the top of Dan\'s hat through the little aperture in the wall of the inn parlour. "When I saw the twitch in his hat, John, I knew he had handled the cheque himself. I don\'t mean to say that I\'m sharper than another man, and I don\'t think so; but I do mean to say that when you are in any difficulty of that sort, you ought to go to a lawyer. It\'s his business, and a man does what is his business with patience and perseverance. It\'s a pity, though, that that scoundrel should get off." Then Eames gave his uncle an account of his Italian trip, to and fro, and was congratulated also upon his success. John\'s great triumph lay in the fact that he had been only two nights in bed, and that he would not have so far condescended on those occasions but for the feminine weakness of his fellow-traveller. "We shan\'t forget it all in a hurry,—shall we, John?" said Mr. Toogood, in a pleasant voice, as they parted at the door of the luncheon-house in Holborn. Toogood was returning to his office, and John Eames was to prepare himself for his last attempt.

He went home to his lodgings, intending at first to change his dress,—to make himself smart for the work before him,—but after standing for a moment or two leaning on the chest of drawers in his bed-room, he gave up this idea. "After all that\'s come and gone," he said to himself, "if I cannot win her as I am now, I cannot win her at all." And then he swore to himself a solemn oath, resolving that he would repeat the purport of it to Lily herself,—that this should be the last attempt. "What\'s the use of it? Everybody ridicules me. And I am ridiculous. I am an ass. It\'s all very well wanting to be prime minister; but if you can\'t be prime minister, you must do without being prime minister." Then he attempted to sing the old song—"Shall I, sighing in despair, die because a woman\'s fair? If she be not fair for me, what care I how fair she be?" But he did care, and he told himself that the song did him no good. As it was not time for him as yet to go to Lily, he threw himself on the sofa, and strove to read a book. Then all the weary nights of his journey prevailed over him, and he fell asleep.

When he awoke it wanted a quarter to six. He sprang up, and rushing out, jumped into a cab. "Berkeley Square,—as hard as you can go," he said. "Number —." He thought of Rosalind, and her counsels to lovers as to the keeping of time, and reflected that in such an emergency as his, he might really have ruined himself by that unfortunate slumber. When he got to Mrs. Thorne\'s door he knocked hurriedly, and bustled up to the drawing-room as though everything depended on his saving a minute. "I\'m afraid I\'m ever so much behind my time," he said.

"It does not matter in the least," said Lily. "As Mrs. Arabin said that perhaps you might call, I would not be out of the way. I supposed that Sir Raffle was keeping you and that you wouldn\'t come."

"Sir Raffle was not keeping me. I fell asleep. That is the truth of it."

"I am so sorry that you should have been disturbed!"

"Do not laugh at me, Lily,—to-day. I had been travelling a good deal, and I suppose I was tired."

"I won\'t laugh at you," she said, and of a sudden her eyes became full of tears,—she did not know why. But there they were, and she was ashamed to put up her handkerchief, and she could not bring herself to turn away her face, and she had no resource but that he should see them.

"Lily!" he said.

"What a paladin you have been, John, rushing all about Europe on your friend\'s behalf!"

"Don\'t talk about that."

"And such a successful paladin too! Why am I not to talk about it? I am going home to-morrow, and I mean to talk about nothing else for a week. I am so very, very, very glad that you have saved your cousin." Then she did put up her handkerchief, making believe that her tears had been due to Mr. Crawley. But John Eames knew better than that.

"Lily," he said, "I\'ve come for the last time. It sounds as though I meant to threaten you; but you won\'t take it in that way. I think you will know what I mean. I have come for the last time—to ask you to be my wife." She had got up to greet him when he entered, and they were both still standing. She did not answer him at once, but turning away from him walked towards the window. "You knew why I was coming to-day, Lily?"

"Mrs. Arabin told me. I could not be away when you were coming, but perhaps it would have been better."

"Is it so? Must it be so? Must you say that to me, Lily? Think of it for a moment, dear."

"I have thought of it."

"One word from you, yes or no, spoken now is to be everything to me for always. Lily, cannot you say yes?" She did not answer him, but walked further away from him to another window. "Try to say yes. Look round at me with one look that may only half mean it;—that may tell me that it shall not positively be no for ever." I think that she almost tried to turn her face to him; but be that as it may, she kept her eyes steadily fixed upon the window-pane. "Lily," he said, "it is not that you are hard-hearted,—perhaps not altogether that you do not like me. I think that you believe things against me that are not true." As she heard this she moved her foot angrily upon the carpet. She had almost forgotten M. D., but ............