back."

"It was an odious incident!" Angela exclaimed, rapidly changing her
attitude.

Bernard was on the point of making a rejoinder, but he thought of Gordon
Wright and held his tongue. He presently told her that he intended to
leave Baden on the morrow.

They were walking toward her mother. She looked round at him quickly.

"Where are you going?"

"To Paris," he said, quite at hazard; for he had not in the least
determined where to go.

"To Paris--in the month of August?" And she gave a little laugh. "What a
happy inspiration!"

She gave a little laugh, but she said nothing more, and Bernard gave no
further account of his plan. They went and sat down near Mrs. Vivian for
ten minutes, and then they got up again and strolled to another part of
the garden. They had it all to themselves, and it was filled with things
that Bernard liked--inequalities of level, with mossy steps connecting
them, rose-trees trained upon old brick walls, horizontal trellises
arranged like Italian pergolas, and here and there a towering poplar,
looking as if it had survived from some more primitive stage of culture,
with its stiff boughs motionless and its leaves forever trembling. They
made almost the whole circuit of the garden, and then Angela mentioned
very quietly that she had heard that morning from Mr. Wright, and that