That's how the little measure begins, and it goes on just for a couple of pages. I can't write music, unfortunately, and I've nobody by me at just this moment who can; but if the reader is musical and knows the "Soirées de Vienne," he will guess the particular waltz I mean. Well, the Düsseldorf railway station is not a garden of roses; but when Leah stepped out of that second-class carriage and looked straight at Barty, _dans le blanc des yeux_, he fitted her to the tune _he_ loved best just then (not knowing the "Soirées de Vienne"), and it's one of the tunes that last forever: "Du bist die Ruh', der Friede mild!" Barty's senses were not as other men's senses. With his one eye he saw much that most of _us_ can't see with two; I feel sure of this. And he suddenly saw in Leah's face, now she was quite grown up, that which bound him to her for life--some veiled promise, I suppose; we can't explain these things. * * * * * Barty escorted the Gibson party to Riffrath, and put down Mrs. Bletchley's name for Dr. Hasenclever, and then took them to the woods of Hammerfest, close by, with which they were charmed. On the way back to the hotel they met Lady Jane and Miss Royce and the good Beresford Duff, who all bowed to Barty, and Julia's blue glance crossed Leah's black one. "Oh, what a lovely girl!" said Leah to Barty. "What a pity she's so tall; why, I'm sure she's half a head taller than even I, and they make _my_ life a burden to me at home because I'm such a giantess! Who is she? You know her well, I suppose?" "She's a Miss Julia Royce, a great heiress. Her father's dead; he was a wealthy Norfolk Squire, and she was his only child." "Then I suppose she's a very aristocratic person; she looks so, I'm sure!" "Very much so indeed," said Barty. "Dear me! it seems unfair, doesn't it, having everything like that; no wonder she looks so happy!" [Illustration: DR. HASENCLEVER AND MRS. BLETCHLEY] Then they went back to the hotel to lunch; and in the afternoon Mrs. Bletchley saw the doctor, who gave her a prescription for spectacles, and said she had nothing to fear; and was charming to Leah and to Ida, who spoke French so well, and to the pretty and lively Mrs. Gibson, who lost her heart to him and spoke the most preposterous French he had ever heard. He was fond of pretty English women, the good German doctor, whatever French they spoke. They were quite an hour there. Meanwhile Barty went to Beresford Duff's, and found Julia and Lady Jane drinking tea, as usual at that hour. "Who are your uncommonly well-dressed friends, Barty?" said Mr. Duff. "I never met any of them that _I_ can remember." "Well--they're just from London--the elder lady is a Mrs. Bletchley." "Not one of the Berkshire Bletchleys, eh?" "Oh no--she's the widow of a London solicitor." "Dear me! And the lovely, tall, black-eyed _damigella_--who's she?" "She's a Miss Gibson, and her father's a furrier in Cheapside."