Then Mr. Lind came into the room, and Reitzei left.

“How do you do, Madame Potecki?” said he, somewhat curtly.

She took it that he was offended because she had come on merely private affairs to his place of business; and this did not tend to lessen her embarrassment.  However, she made a brave plunge.

“You are surprised,” she said, “to find me calling upon you here, are you not?  Yes; but I will explain.  You see, my dear friend, I wished to see you alone—­”

“Yes, yes, Madame Potecki; I understand.  What is your news?”

“It is—­about Natalie,” she managed to say, and then all the methods of beginning that she had studied went clean out of her mind; and she was reduced to an absolute silence.

He did not seem in the least impatient.

“Yes; about Natalie?” he repeated, taking up a paper-knife, and beginning to write imaginary letters on the leather of the desk before him.

“You will say to me, ‘Why do you interfere?’” the little woman managed to say at last.  “Meddlers do harm; they are not thanked.  But then, my dear friend, Natalie is like my own child to me; for her what would I not do?”

Mr. Lind could not fail to see that his visitor was very nervous and agitated:  perhaps it was to give her time to compose herself that he said, leisurely,

“Yes, Madame Potecki; I know that you and she are great friends; and it is a good thing that the child should have some one to keep her company; perhaps she is a little too much alone.  Well, what do you wish to say about her?  You run no risk with me.  You will not be misunderstood.  I know you are not likely to say anything unkind about Natalie.”

“Unkind!” she exclaimed; and now she had recovered herself somewhat.  “Who could do that?  Oh no, my dear friend; oh no!”

Here was another awkward pause.

“My dear Madame Potecki,” said Mr. Lind, with a smile, “shall I speak for you?  You do not like to say what you have come to say.  Shall I speak for you?  This is it, is it not?  You have become aware of that entanglement that Natalie has got into.  Very well.  Perhaps she has told you.  Perhaps she has told you also that I have forbidden her to have any communication with—­well, let us speak frankly—­Mr. Brand.  Very well.  You go with her to the South Kensington Museum; you meet Mr. Brand there.  Naturally you think if that comes to my ears I shall suspect you of having planned the meeting; and you would rather come and assure me that you had nothing to do with it.  Is it so?”

“My dear friend,” said Madame Potecki, quickly, “I did not come to you about myself at all!  What am I?  What matters what happens to an old woman like me?  It is not about myself, it is about Natalie that I have come to you.  Ah, the dear, beautiful child!—­how can one see her unhappy, and not try to do something?  Why should she be unhappy?  She is young, beautiful, loving; my dear friend, do you wonder that she has a sweetheart?—­and one who is so worthy of her, too:  one who is not selfish, who has courage, who will be kind to her.  Then I said to myself, ’Ah, what a pity to have father and daughter opposed to each other!’ Why might not one step in and say, ’Come, and be friends.  You love each other:  do not have this coldness that makes a young heart so miserable!’”