After bath and breakfast there was an enormous pile of correspondence awaiting him; for not a single letter referring to his own affairs had been forwarded to him for over two months.  He had thrown his entire time and care into his work in the North.  And now that these arrears had to be cleared off, he attacked the business with an obvious impatience.  Formerly he had been used to dawdle over his letters, getting through a good portion of the forenoon with them and conversations with Waters about Buckinghamshire news.  Now, even with that omniscient factotum by his side, his progress was slow, simply because he was hurried.  He made dives here and there, without system, without settlement.  At last, looking at his watch, he jumped up; it was half-past eleven.

“Some other time, Waters—­some other time; the man must wait,” he said to the astonished but patient person beside him.  “If Lord Evelyn calls, tell him I shall look in at the Century to-night.”

“Yes, sir.”

Some half-hour thereafter he was standing in Park Lane, his heart beating somewhat quickly, his eyes fixed eagerly on two figures that were crossing the thoroughfare lower down to one of the gates leading into Hyde Park.  These were Natalie Lind and the little Anneli.  He had known that he would see her thus; he had imagined the scene a thousand times; he had pictured to himself every detail—­the trees, the tall railings, the spring flowers in the plots, and the little rosy-cheeked German girl walking by her mistress’s side; and yet, now that this familiar thing had come true, he trembled to behold it; he breathed quickly; he could not go forward to her and hold out his hand.  Slowly, for they were walking slowly, he went along to the gate and entered after them; cautiously, lest she should turn suddenly and confront him with her eyes; drawn, and yet fearing to follow.  She was talking with some animation to her companion; though even in this profound silence he could not hear the sound of her voice.  But he could see the beautiful oval of her face! and sometimes, when she turned with a laugh to the little Anneli, he caught a glimpse of the black eyes and eyelashes, the smiling lips and brilliant teeth; and once or twice she put out the palm of her right hand with a little gesture which, despite her English dress, would have told a stranger that she was of foreign ways.  But the look of welcome, the smile of reward that he had been looking forward to?

Well, Mr. Lind was in America; and during his absence his daughter saw but few visitors.  There was no particular reason why, supposing that George Brand met Natalie in the street, he should not go up and shake hands with her; and many a time, in these mental pictures of his of her morning walk with the rosy-cheeked Anneli, he imagined himself confronting her under the shadow of the trees, and perhaps walking some way with her, to listen once more to the clear, low vibrations of her musical voice.  But no sooner