"His reward, Mrs. Arabin?"
"Yes; or rather to plead for him. You will not, I hope, be angry with him because he has told me much of his history while we were travelling home alone together."
"Oh, no," said Lily, smiling. "How could he have chosen a better friend in whom to trust?"
"He could certainly have chosen none who would take his part more sincerely. He is so good and so amiable! He is so pleasant in his ways, and so fitted to make a woman happy! And then, Miss Dale, he is also so devoted!"
"He is an old friend of ours, Mrs. Arabin."
"So he has told me."
"And we all of us love him dearly. Mamma is very much attached to him."
"Unless he flatters himself, there is no one belonging to you who would not wish that he should be nearer and dearer still."
"It may be so. I do not say that it is not so. Mamma and my uncle are both fond of him."
"And does not that go a long way?" said Mrs. Arabin.
"It ought not to do so," said Lily. "It ought not to go any way at all."
"Ought it not? It seems to me that I could never have brought myself to marry any one whom my old friends had not liked."
"Ah! that is another thing."
"But is it not a recommendation to a man that he has been so successful with your friends as to make them all feel that you might trust yourself to him with perfect safety?" To this Lily made no answer, and Mrs. Arabin went on to plead her friend's cause with all the eloquence she could use, insisting on all his virtues, his good temper, his kindness, his constancy,—and not forgetting the fact that the world was inclined to use him very well. Still Lily made no answer. She had promised Mrs. Arabin that she would not regard her interference as impertinent, and therefore she refrained from any word that might seem to show offence. Nor did she feel offence. It was something gained by John Eames in Lily's estimation that he should have such a friend as Mrs. Arabin to take an interest in his welfare. But there was a self-dependence, perhaps one may call it an obstinacy about Lily Dale, which made her determined that she would not be driven hither or thither by any pressure from without. Why had John Eames, at the very moment when he should have been doing his best to drive from her breast the memory of past follies,—when he would have striven to do so had he
