by the thickset, honest-looking mechanic who was the happy
recipient. When they left the hall she was still deep in
conversation with him.

The fates were kind, however, to Brian that day; they were just too
late for a train, and before the next one arrived, Raeburn and
Erica were seen slowly coming down the steps, and in another minute
had joined them on the platform. Charles Osmond and Raeburn fell
into an amicable discussion, and Brian, to his great satisfaction,
was left to an uninterrupted tete-a-tete with Erica. There had
been no further demonstration by the crowd, and Erica, now that the
anxiety was over, was ready to make fun of Mr. Randolph and his
band, checking herself every now and then for fear of hurting her
companion, but breaking forth again and again into irresistible
merriment as she recalled the "alligator" incident and other
grotesque utterances. All too soon they reached their destination.
There was still, however, a ten minutes' walk before them, a walk
which Brian never forgot. The wind was high, and it seemed to
excite Erica; he could always remember exactly how she looked, her
eyes bright and shining, her short, auburn hair, all blown about by
the wind, one stray wave lying across the quaint little sealskin
hat. He remembered, too, how, in the middle of his argument,
Raeburn had stepped forward and had wrapped a white woolen scarf
more closely round the child, securing the fluttering ends. Brian
would have liked to do it himself had he dared, and yet it pleased
him, too, to see the father's thoughtfulness; perhaps in that
"touch of nature," he, for the first time, fully recognized his
kinship with the atheist.

Erica talked to him in the meantime with a delicious, childlike