“Look at it, Fraulein,” said Anneli, taking out her purse and producing a sound and solid English coin, about which there appeared to be no demonology or witchcraft whatsoever.

They had by this time got into Park Lane; and here the young mistress’s speculations about the mysterious messenger of Santa Claus were suddenly cut short by something more immediate and more practical.  There was a small boy of about ten engaged in pulling a wheelbarrow which was heavily laden with large baskets—­probably containing washing; and he was toiling manfully with a somewhat hopeless task.  How he had got so far it was impossible to say; but now that his strength was exhausted, he was trying all sorts of ineffectual dodges—­even tilting up the barrow and endeavoring to haul it by the legs—­to get the thing along.

“If I were a man,” said Natalie Lind, “I would help that boy.”

Then she stepped from the pavement.

“Little boy,” she said, “where are you taking that barrow?”

The London gamin, always on the watch for sarcasm, stopped and stared at her.  Then he took off his cap and wiped his forehead; it was warm work, though this was a chill February morning.  Finally he said,

“Well, I’m agoin’ to Warrington Crescent, Maida Vale.  But if it’s when I am likely to git there—­bust me if I know.”

She looked about.  There was a good, sturdy specimen of the London loafer over at the park railings, with both hands up at his mouth, trying to light his pipe.  She went across to him.

“I will give you half a crown if you will pull that barrow to Warrington Crescent, Maida Vale.”  There was no hesitation in her manner; she looked the loafer fair in the face.

He instantly took the pipe from his mouth, and made some slouching attempt at touching his cap.

“Thank ye, miss.  Thank ye kindly”—­and away the barrow went, with the small boy manfully pushing behind.

The tall, black-eyed Hungarian girl and her rosy-cheeked attendant now turned into the Park.  There were a good many people riding by—­fathers with their daughters, elderly gentlemen very correctly dressed, smart young men with a little tawny mustache, clear blue eyes, and square shoulders.

“Many of those Englishmen are very handsome,” said the young mistress, by chance.

“Not like the Austrians, Fraulein,” said Anneli.

“The Austrians?  What do you know about the Austrians?” said the other, sharply.

“When my uncle was ill at Prague, Fraulein,” the girl said, “my mother took me there to see him.  We used to go out to the river, and go half-way over the tall bridge, and then down to the ‘Sofien-Insel.’  Ah, the beautiful place!—­with the music, and the walks under the trees; and there we used to see the Austrian officers.  These were handsome, with there beautiful uniforms, and waists like a girl; and the beautiful gloves they wore, too!—­even when they were smoking cigarettes.”