"And I shall have," he said to himself, "to
kiss Charlotte."
Would his father meet him at the station? Would he greet him as
though nothing had happened, or would he be cold and distant? How,
again, would he take the news of his son's good fortune? As the
train drew up to the platform, Ernest's eye ran hurriedly over the few
people who were in the station. His father's well-known form was not
among them, but on the other side of the palings which divided the
station yard from the platform, he saw the pony carriage, looking,
as he thought, rather shabby, and recognised his father's coachman. In
a few minutes more he was in the carriage driving towards Battersby.
He could not help smiling as he saw the coachman give a look of
surprise at finding him so much changed in personal appearance. The
coachman was the more surprised because when Ernest had last been at
home he had been dressed as a clergyman, and now he was not only a
layman, but a layman who was got up regardless of expense. The
change was so great that it was not till Ernest actually spoke to
him that the coachman knew him.
"How are my father and mother?" he asked hurriedly, as he got into
the carriage.
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