his hat and left. Instinctively he made his way westward. He was sure to
see her, at a distance, taking this morning stroll of hers: might he not
guess something from her face as to what her reply would be? She could
not have written so soon; she would take time to consider; even a
refusal would, he knew, be gently worded.

In any case, he would see her; and if her answer gave no hope, it would
be the last time on which he would follow that graceful figure from afar
with his eyes, and wonder to himself what the low and musical voice was
saying to Anneli. And as he walked on, he grew more and more
downhearted. It was a certainty that, out of all those friends of her
father's some one must have dreamed of possessing this beautiful prize
for his own.

When, after not much waiting, he saw Natalie and Anneli cross into the
Park, he had so reasoned himself into despair that he was not
surprised--at least he tried to convince himself that he was not
surprised--to perceive that the former was accompanied by a stranger,
the little German maid-servant walking not quite with them, and yet not
altogether behind them. He could almost have expected this; and yet his
eyes seemed hot, and he had some difficulty in trying to make out who
this might be. And at this great distance he could only gather that he
was foreign in appearance, and that he wore a peaked cap in place of a
hat.

He dared not follow them now; and he was about to turn away when he saw
Natalie's new companion motion to her to sit down on one of the seats.
He sat down, too; and he took her hand, and held it in his. What then?

This man looking on from a distance, with a bitter heart, had no thought