His talents were appreciated and admired.
One gentleman, Sir Thomas Ashburnham, ordered a picture from him; another purchased a series of sketches; and a third invited him to a grand old castle in the North where he could make himself familiar with some of the finest rugged scenery in Scotland.
So that in one sense his visit was a complete success.

He increased his social importance; he made friends who would be of great value to him; but, so far as Marion was concerned, it was a complete, dead failure.

He had expected long interviews with her; he had thought of long and pleasant hours in the grounds; he had pictured to himself how she would renew her vows of fidelity to him; how she would listen, as she had done before, to his love-making, and perhaps even seem fonder to him than she had ever done before.
Instead of which she certainly shrank from him.

Never once during the whole of his stay at Thorpe Castle did he contrive to get one tete-a-tete with her.

If he wrote a little note asking her to meet him in the shrubbery or the grounds, or to give him five minutes in the conservatory, her answer was always that she was engaged.