Derrick's mind was in a condition of joyous confusion as the train bore
him in a slow and leisurely fashion towards Thexford. Predominant, of
course, was the thought that he was on his way to see the girl of his
heart. But presently he began to think of the strange old man who had
set him that way. Naturally enough, Derrick felt curious about him; for
he had been much struck and interested by the old man's appearance and
manner. Derrick knew a gentleman when he saw him, and he knew that Mr.
Clendon was a gentleman and one of a very fine type; seen in befitting
surroundings, Mr. Clendon would have filled completely the part of a
nobleman; and yet he was poor and living in Brown's Buildings. Derrick
felt strangely drawn towards the old man, but told himself that it was
because Mr. Clendon was a friend of Celia's--Derrick had already learned
to call her 'Celia' in his mind.

Then the fact that she was librarian to Lord Sutcombe recurred to him.
It was a strange coincidence, one of the strangest; and as he faced it,
Derrick's intention to go straight to the Hall and ask for Celia became
changed. He did not want to meet the Sutcombes: it was just possible
that Heyton and Miriam would be there; and most certainly he did not
want to meet them. He uttered a groan of impatience: he would not be
able to go to the Hall; he would have to find some means of meeting her
elsewhere; every moment of delay, every moment that stood between him
and the sight of her, assumed the length of years. With his brows knit,
and his heart in a state of rebellion, he got out at the little station
and looked round him wistfully, irresolutely.