At last they arrived at the house in Curzon Street, and found Mr. Lind just on the point of entering.  He stayed to receive them; went up-stairs with them to the drawing-room, and then begged them to excuse him for a few minutes.  Presently Natalie Lind appeared.

How this man envied his friend Evelyn the frank, sister-like way in which she took the little present, and thanked him, for that and his kind wishes!

“Ah, do you know,” she said, “what a strange birthday gift I had given me this morning?  See!”

She brought over the old-fashioned silver locket, and told them the whole story.

“Is it not strange?” she said. “‘From Natalie to Natalushka:’  that is, from myself to myself.  What can it mean?”

“Have you not asked your father, then, about his mysterious messenger?” Brand said.  He was always glad to ask this girl a question, for she looked him so straight in the face with her soft, dark eyes, as she answered,

“He has only now come home.  I will directly.”

“But why does your father call you Natalushka, Natalie?” asked Lord Evelyn.

There was the slightest blush on the pale, clear face.

“It was a nickname they gave me, I am told, when I was child.  They used to make me angry.”

“And now, if one were to call you Natalushka?”

“My anger would be too terrible,” she said, with a smile.  “Papa alone dares to do that.”

Presently her father came into the room.

“Oh, papa,” said she, “I have discovered who the lady is whom you got to bring me the flowers.  And see! she has given me this strange little locket.  Look at the inscription—­’From Natalie to Natalushka.’”

Lind only glanced at the locket.  His eyes were fixed on the girl.

“Where did you see the—­the lady?” he asked, coldly.

“In the Park.  But she did not stay a moment, or speak; she hurried on, and Anneli thought she was crying.  I almost think so too.  Who was it, papa?  May I speak to her, if I see her again?”

Mr. Lind turned aside for a moment.  Brand, who was narrowly watching him, was convinced that the man was in a passion of rage.  But when he turned again he was outwardly calm.

“You will do nothing of the kind, Natalie,” he said in measured tones.  “I have warned you before against making indiscriminate acquaintances; and Anneli, if she is constantly getting such stupidities into her head, must be sent about her business.  I do not wish to hear anything more about it.  Will you ring and ask why tea has not been sent up?”

The girl silently obeyed.  Her father had never spoken to her in this cold, austere tone before.  She sat down at a small table, apart.

Mr. Lind talked for a minute or two with his guests; then he said,

“Natalie, you have the zither there; why do you not play us something?”

She turned to the small instrument, and, after a second or two, played a few notes:  that was all.  She rose and said, “I don’t think I can play this afternoon, papa;” and then she left the room.