“I want to see my way clear,” Brand said, almost to himself.

“Ah, that is just it; whereas, you must go blindfold.”

Thereafter again silence.  The moon had risen higher now; and the paths in the Embankment gardens just below them had grown gray in the clearer light.  Lord Evelyn lay and watched the light of a hansom that was rattling along by the side of the river.

“Do you remember,” said Brand, with a smile, “your repeating some verses here one night; and my suspecting you had borrowed the inspiration somewhere?  My boy, I have found you out.  What I guessed was true.  I made bold to ask Miss Lind to read, that evening I came up with them from Dover.”

“I know it,” said Lord Evelyn, quietly.

“You have seen her, then?” was the quick question.

“No; she wrote to me.”

“Oh, she writes to you?” the other said.

“Well, you see, I did not know her father had gone abroad, and I called.  As a rule, she sees no one while her father is away; on the other hand, she will not say she is not at home if she is at home.  So she wrote me a note of apology for refusing to see me; and in it she told me you had been very kind to them, and how she had tried to read, and had read very badly, because she feared your criticism—­”

“I never heard anything like it!” Brand said; and then he corrected himself.  “Well, yes, I have; I have heard you, Evelyn.  You have been an admirable pupil.”

“Now when I think of it,” said his friend, putting his hand in his breast-pocket, “this letter is mostly about you, Brand.  Let me see if there is anything in it you may not see.  No; it is all very nice and friendly.”

He was about to hand over the letter, when he stopped.

“I do believe,” he said, looking at Brand, “that you are capable of thinking Natalie wrote this letter on purpose you should see it.”

“Then you do me a great injustice,” Brand said, without anger.  “And you do her a great injustice.  I do not think it needs any profound judge of character to see what that girl is.”

“For that is one thing I could never forgive you, Brand.”

“What?”

“If you were to suspect Natalie Lind.”

This was no private and confidential communication that passed into Brand’s hand, but a frank, gossiping, sisterly note, stretching out beyond its initial purpose.  And there was no doubt at all that it was mostly about Brand himself; and the reader grew red as he went on.  He had been so kind to them at Dover; and so interested in her papa’s work; and so anxious to be of service and in sympathy with them.  And then she spoke as if he were definitely pledged to them; and how proud she was to have another added to the list of her friends.  George Brand’s face was as red as his beard when he folded up the letter.  He did not immediately return it.

“What a wonderful woman that is!” said he, after a time.  “I did not think it would be left for a foreigner to teach me to believe in England.”