In six hours I was in London, friendless, and I had well-nigh said, purposeless, for, after I had written out and myself taken to the office of the _Times_, a brief but imploring message to my father, I knew not which way to turn or what to do with myself. London disgusted, sickened me, and at every step I took I felt myself longing the more for a strong fresh breeze from a Yorkshire moor, and for the sight of a country lane and a few ruddy-cheeked, good-natured country folk, instead of this never-ceasing stream of pale-faced anxious men and over-dressed artificial women, and this interminable succession of great dirty buildings. I felt awkward, too, and ill at ease, for though in the country there had never seemed to be anything extraordinary in my stature, here, as I walked down the Strand with my hands behind my back, I seemed head and shoulders above everybody else, and people looked up at me wonderingly and made laughing remarks to one another, some of which I could not help but overhear. At last, in despair, it occurred to me that my country costume had something to do with it; so I went to a tailor's in Bond Street, and, with a sigh, abandoned my loose shooting jacket and breeches and brown deer-stalker for a black frock coat, dark grey trousers, and tall hat. The change was an effectual one, however, for though people still stared at me, it was no longer as though I were some wild animal. One afternoon during the second week of my stay in London I turned with a crowd of other loungers into the Park, and there, to my surprise, I saw Maud. She was sitting in a victoria by herself, leaning back amongst the cushions with pale face and a light in her cold blue eyes which seemed to speak of indifference to everything and everybody around her. As fate would have it there was a block just then, and her carriage, with its pair of restless fuming bays, came almost to a standstill close to where I was leaning over the railing. I would have drawn back, but I could not. I seemed fascinated, and I remained there with my eyes fixed upon hers, and from that moment I was a believer in animal magnetism, for suddenly she looked languidly up, and her eyes rested deliberately upon the little crowd of black-coated loungers of whom I was one. She saw me, she singled me out from the rest in a moment, and instantly the proud, bored look left her face, and she leaned forward in her carriage towards me with her lips parted in a slight smile. I obeyed her imperious little gesture, and, stepping over the railings, stood by her side hat in hand. She laid an exquisitely gloved little hand in mine for a moment, and then leaned back, looking at me with the old look, half mocking, half tender, altogether bewildering.