color. But at the end of dinner her father said.

"Natalushka, if we go into the drawing-room, and listen to music, after
so long a day, we shall all go to sleep. You must come into the
smoking-room with us."

"Very well, papa."

"But, Miss Lind," the other gentleman remonstrated, "a velvet
dress--tobacco-smoke--"

"My dresses must take their chance," said Miss Lind. "I wear them to
please my friends, not to please chance acquaintances who may call
during the day."

And so they retired to the little den at the end of the passage; and
Natalie handed Mr. Brand a box of cigars to choose from, and got down
from the rack her father's long-stemmed, red-bowled pipe. Then she took
a seat in the corner by the fire, and listened.

The talk was all about that anarchical literature that Brand had been
devouring down at Dover; and he was surprised to find how little
sympathy Lind had with writing of that kind, though he had to confess
that certain of the writers were personal friends of his own. Natalie
sat silent, listening intently, and staring into the fire.

At last Brand said,

"Of course, I had other books. For example, one I see on your shelves
there." He rose, and took down the "Songs before Sunrise." "Miss Lind,"