I saw him a
little before he started, and was pleased to see how well his tailor
had done by him. Towneley himself could not have been appointed more
becomingly. His portmanteau, his railway wrapper, everything he had
about him, was in keeping. I thought he had grown much
better-looking than he had been at two- or three-and-twenty. His
year and a half of peace had effaced all the ill effects of his
previous suffering, and now that he had become actually rich there was
an air of insouciance and good humour upon his face, as of a man
with whom everything was going perfectly right, which would have
made a much plainer man good-looking. I was proud of him and delighted
with him. "I am sure," I said to myself, "that whatever else he may
do, he will never marry again."
The journey was a painful one. As he drew near to the station and
caught sight of each familiar feature, so strong was the force of
association that he felt as though his coming into his aunt's money
had been a dream, and he were again returning to his father's house as
he had returned to it from Cambridge for the vacations. Do what he
would, the old dull weight of home-sickness began to oppress him,
his heart beat fast as he thought of his approaching meeting with
his father and mother.
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