“Have they seen Miss Lind?”

“No, not yet.”

“And how will you explain your latest craze to them, Evelyn?  They are very nice girls indeed, you know; but—­but—­when they set full cry on you—­I suppose some day I shall have to send them a copy of a newspaper from abroad, with this kind of thing in it:  ’Compeared yesterday before the Correctional Tribunal, Earnest Francis D’Agincourt, Baron Evelyn, charged with having in his possession two canisters of an explosive compound and fourteen empty missiles.  Further, among the correspondence of the accused was found—­’”

“‘A letter from an Englishman named Brand,’” continued Lord Evelyn, as he rose and went to the window, “’apparently written under the influence of nightmare.’ Come, Brand, I see the carriage is below.  Will you drive with me to the jeweller’s?”

“Certainly,” said his friend; and at this moment the carriage was announced.  “I suppose it wouldn’t do for me to buy the thing?  You know I have more money to spend on trinkets than you have.”

They were very intimate friends indeed.  Lord Evelyn only said, with a smile,

“I am afraid Natalie wouldn’t like it.”

But this choosing of a birthday present was a terrible business.  The jeweller was as other jewellers:  his designs were mostly limited to the representation of two objects—­a butterfly for a woman, and a horseshoe for a man.  At last Brand, who had been walking about from time to time, espied, in a distant case, an object which instantly attracted his attention.  It was a flat piece of wood or board, covered with blue velvet; and on this had been twined an unknown number of yards of the beautiful thread-like gold chain common to the jewellers’ shop-windows in Venice.

“Here you are, Evelyn,” Brand said at once.  “Why not buy a lot of this thin chain, and let her make it into any sort of decoration that she chooses?”

“It is an ignominious way out of the difficulty,” said the other:  but he consented; and yard after yard of the thread-like chain was unrolled.  When allowed to drop together, it seemed to go into no compass at all.

They went outside.

“What are you going to do now, Brand?”

The other was looking cheerless enough.

“I?” he said, with the slightest possible shrug.  “I suppose I must go down to the club, and yawn away the time till dinner.”

“Then why not come with me?  I have a commission or two from my sisters—­one as far out as Notting Hill; but after that we can drive back through the Park and call on the Linds.  I dare say Lind will be home by that time.”

Lord Evelyn’s friend was more than delighted.  As they drove from place to place he was a good deal more talkative than was his wont; and, among other things, confessed his belief that Ferdinand Lind seemed much too hard-headed a man to be engaged in mere visionary enterprises.  But somehow the conversation generally came round to Mr. Lind’s daughter; and Brand seemed very anxious to find out to what degree she was cognizant of her father’s schemes.  On this point Lord Evelyn knew nothing.