But a Monte Cristo should never explain. The conjuror who reveals his
mechanism is no longer a conjuror. George Brand only laughed, and said
he hoped Miss Lind would always find people ready to welcome her when
she reached English shores.

As they rattled along through those shining valleys--the woods and
fields and homesteads all glowing in the afternoon sun--she had put
aside her travelling-cloak and hood, for the air was quite mild. Was it
the drawing off of the hood, or the stir of wind on board the steamer,
that had somewhat disarranged her hair?--at all events, here and there
about her small ear or the shapely neck there was an escaped curl of
raven-black. She had taken off her gloves, too: her hands, somewhat
large, were of a beautiful shape, and transparently white. The magazines
and newspapers received not much attention--except from Mr. Lind, who
said that at last he should see some news neither a week old nor
fictitious. As for these other two, they seemed to find a wonderful lot
to talk about, and all of a profoundly interesting character. With a
sudden shock of disappointment George Brand found that they were almost
into London.

His hand-bag was at once passed by the custom-house people; and he had
nothing to do but say good-bye. His face was not over-cheerful.

"Well, it was a lucky meeting," Mr. Lind said. "Natalie ought to thank
you for being so kind to her."

"Yes; but not here," said the girl, and she turned to him. "Mr. Brand,
people who have travelled so far together should not part so quickly: it
is miserable. Will you not come and spend the evening with us?"