George Brand and his friend Evelyn sat in the back row of chairs, watching the people pass and repass. It was a sombre procession, but that here and there appeared a young English girl in her pale spring costume--paler than the fresh glow of youth and health on her face, and that here and there the sunlight, wandering down through the branches, touched a scarlet sunshade--just then coming into fashion--until that shone like a beautiful spacious flower among the mass of green. When they had been silently watching the people for some little time, Brand said, almost to himself, "How very unlike those women she is!" "Who? Oh, Natalie Lind," said the other, who had been speaking of her some minutes before. "Well, that is natural and I don't say it to their disadvantage. I believe most girls are well-intended enough; but, of course, they grow up in a particular social atmosphere, and it depends on that what they become. If it is rather fast, the girl sees nothing objectionable in being fast too. If it is religious, the god of her idolatry is a bishop. If it is sporting, she thinks mostly about horses. Natalie is exceptional, because she has been brought up in exceptional circumstances. For one thing, she has been a good deal alone; and she has formed all sorts of beautiful idealisms and aspirations--" The conversation dropped here; for at the moment Lord Evelyn espied two of his sisters coming along in the slow procession. "Here come two of the girls," he said to his friend. "How precious demure they look!" Brand at once rose, and went out from the shadow of the trees, to pay his respects to the two young ladies. "How do you do, Miss D'Agincourt? How do you do, Miss Frances?" Certainly no one would have suspected these two very graceful and pleasant-looking girls of being madcap creatures at home. The elder was a tall and slightly-built blonde, with large gray eyes set wide apart; the younger a gentle little thing, with brownish eyes, freckles, and a pretty mouth. "Mamma?" said the eldest daughter, in answer to his inquires. "Oh, she is behind, bringing up the rear, as it were. We have to go in detachment, or else the police would come and read the riot act against us. Francie and I are the vanguard; and she feels such a good little girl, marching along two and two, just as if she were back at Brighton." The clear gray eyes--quite demure--glanced in toward the shadows of the trees. "I see you have got Evelyn there, Mr. Brand. Who is the extraordinary person he is always talking about now--the Maid of Saragossa, or Joan of Arc, or something like that? Do you know her?" "I suppose you mean Miss Lind." "I know he has persuaded mamma to go and call on her, and get her to dine with us, if she will come. Now, I call that kind." "If she accepts, you mean?" "No, I mean nothing of the sort. Good-bye. If we stay another minute, we shall have the middle detachments overlapping the vanguard. En avant, Francie! Vorwarts!"