CHAPTER XL.
"HE IS MY RIVAL STILL" Fire that's closest kept burns most of all.
Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak; For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.
-- SHAKESPEARE.
Love is patient and content with anything, so it be together with its beloved.
-- JEREMY TAYLOR.
It was on a bright sunshiny April afternoon that Malcolm at last paid his long-deferred visit to Staplegrove.

Cedric had been at home for nearly a week then, but he and Malcolm had already met.

Cedric had spent a night at Cheyne Walk before going down to the Wood House, and had extracted from his friend a reluctant promise that he would come down as early in the week as possible.

Malcolm's assurance that he could only spare two nights was treated by the young matron with incredulity.
"Look here, Herrick," he returned in a lordly manner, "it is no good putting on side with me.

You may be a brilliant essayist, as that fellow called you, and a tiptop literary swell, but you are not going to chuck up old friends in this fashion.