'I will not.' He flung a few things into a Gladstone bag, sat down, and wrote a brief note to Maulevrier, asking him to make his excuses to her ladyship.

He had made up his mind to go to Keswick that afternoon, and would rejoin his friend to-morrow, at Carlisle.

This done, he rang for Maulevrier's valet, and asked that person to look after his luggage and bring it on to Scotland with his master's things; and then, without a word of adieu to anyone, John Hammond went out of the house, with the Gladstone bag in his hand, and shook the dust of Fellside off his feet.
He ordered a fly at the Prince of Wales's Hotel, and drove to Keswick, whence he went on to the Lodore.

The gloom and spaciousness of Derwentwater, grey in the gathering dusk, suited his humour better than the emerald prettiness of Grasmere--the roar of the waterfall made music in his ear.

He dined in a private room, and spent the evening roaming on the shores of the lake, and at eleven o'clock went back to his hotel and sat late into the night reading Heine, and thinking of the girl who had refused him.
Mr.Hammond's letter was delivered to Lord Maulevrier five minutes before dinner, as he sat in the drawing-room with her ladyship and Mary.
Poor Mary had put on another pretty gown for dinner, still bent upon effacing Mr.Hammond's image of her as a tousled, frantic creature in torn and muddy raiment.