“I understand you perfectly, Natalie,” her father said, with a laugh.  “You and Lord Evelyn are quite in accord.  Yes, and you are both thoroughly mistaken.  You mean, by his being so English, that he is cold, critical, unsympathetic:  is it not so?  You resent his being cautious about joining us.  You think he will be but a lukewarm associate—­suspecting everything—­fearful about going too far—­a half-and-half ally.  My dear Natalie, that is because neither Lord Evelyn nor you know anything at all about that man.”

The faint color in the girl’s cheeks had deepened; and she remained silent, with her face downcast.

“The pliable ones,” her father continued, “the people who are moved by fine talking, who are full of amiable sentiments, and who take to work like ours as an additional sentiment—­you may initiate a thousand of them, and not gain an atom of strength.  It is a hard head that I want, and a strong will; a man determined to have no illusions at the outset; a man who, once pledged, will not despair or give up in the face of failure, difficulty, or disappointment, or anything else.  Brand is such a man.  If I were to be disabled to-morrow, I would rather leave my work in his hands than in the hands of any man I have seen in this country.”

Was it to hide the deepening color in her face that the girl went round to her father, and stood rather behind him, and put her hand on his shoulder, and stooped down to his ear.

“Papa,” said she, “I—­I hope you don’t think I have been saying anything against Mr. Brand.  Oh no.  How could I do that—­when he has been so kind to us—­and—­and just now especially, when he is about to become one of us?  You must forget what I said about his being English, papa; after all, it is not for us to say that being English is anything else than being kind, and generous, and hospitable.  And I am exceedingly pleased that you have got another associate, and that we have got another good friend, in England.”

“Alors, as Calabressa would say, you can show that you are pleased, Natalie,” her father said, lightly, “by going and writing a pretty little note, asking your new friend, Mr. Brand, to dine with us to-night, after the initiation is over, and I will ask Evelyn, if I see him.”

But this proposal in no wise seemed to lessen the girl’s embarrassment.  She still clung about the back of her father’s chair.

“I would rather not do that, papa,” said she, after a second.

“Why? why?” said he.

“Would it not look less formal for you to ask him, papa?  You see, it is once or twice that we have asked him to dine with us without giving him proper notice—­”

“Oh, that is nothing—­nothing at all.  A bachelor with an evening disengaged is glad enough to fill it up anyhow.  Well, if you would rather not write, Natalie, I will ask him myself.”

“Thank you, papa,” said she, apparently much relieved, and therewith she went back to her seat, and her father turned to his newspaper.