The clear gray eyes—­quite demure—­glanced in toward the shadows of the trees.

“I see you have got Evelyn there, Mr. Brand.  Who is the extraordinary person he is always talking about now—­the Maid of Saragossa, or Joan of Arc, or something like that?  Do you know her?”

“I suppose you mean Miss Lind.”

“I know he has persuaded mamma to go and call on her, and get her to dine with us, if she will come.  Now, I call that kind.”

“If she accepts, you mean?”

“No, I mean nothing of the sort.  Good-bye.  If we stay another minute, we shall have the middle detachments overlapping the vanguard.  En avant, Francie!  Vorwarts!”

She bowed to him, and passed on in her grave and stately manner:  more calmly observant, demurer eyes were not in the Park.

He ran the gauntlet of the whole family, and at last encountered the mamma, who brought up the rear with the youngest of her daughters.  Lady Evelyn was a tall, somewhat good-looking, elderly lady, who wore her silver-white hair in old-fashioned curls.  She was an amiable but strictly matter-of-fact person, who beheld her daughters’ mad humors with surprise as well as alarm.  What were they forever laughing at?  Besides, it was indecorous.  She had not conducted herself in that manner when she lived in her father’s home.

Lady Evelyn, who was vaguely aware that Brand knew the Linds, repeated her daughter’s information about the proposed visit, and said that if Miss Lind would come and spend the evening with them, she hoped Mr. Brand would come too.

“These girls do tease dreadfully, I know,” said their mamma; “but perhaps they will behave a little better before a stranger.”

Mr. Brand replied that he hoped Miss Lind would accept the invitation—­for during her father’s absence she must be somewhat dull—­but that even without the protection of her presence he was not afraid to face those formidable young ladies.  Whereupon Miss Geraldine—­who was generally called the baby, though she was turned thirteen—­glanced at him with a look which said, “Won’t you catch it for that!” and the mamma then bade him good-bye, saying that Rosalys would write to him as soon as the evening was arranged.

He had not long to wait for that expected note.  The very next night he received it.  Miss Lind was coming on Thursday; would that suit him?  A quarter to eight.

He was there punctual to the moment.  The presence of the whole rabble of girls in the drawing-room told him that this was to be a quite private and domestic dinner-party; on other occasions only two or three of the phalanx—­as Miss D’Agincourt described herself and her sisters—­were chosen to appear.  And, on this especial occasion, there was a fine hubbub of questions and raillery going on—­which Brand vainly endeavored to meet all at once—­when he was suddenly rescued.  The door was opened, and Miss Lind was announced.  The clamor ceased.