“I told you I only scratched when I was scratched first,” I said, as I went out of the room. The angels had started for their walk, and Véronique had to come with me at first to find them. We were walking fast down the path beyond Stanhope Gate, seeing their blue velvet pelisses in the distance, when we met Mr. Carruthers. He stopped, and turned with me. “Evangeline, I was so angry with you yesterday,” he said, “I very nearly left London, and abandoned you to your fate, but now that I have seen you again----” he paused. “You think Paris is a long way off!” I said innocently. “What have they been telling you?” he said, sternly, but he was not quite comfortable. “They have been saying it is a fine November, and the Stock Exchange is no place to play in, and if it were not for bridge, they would all commit suicide! That is what we talk of at Park Street.” “You know very well what I mean. What have they been telling you about me?” “Nothing, except that there is a charming French lady, who adores you, and whom you are devoted to--and I am so sympathetic--I like French women, they put on their hats so nicely.” “What ridiculous gossip--I don’t think Park Street is the place for you to stay. I thought you had more mind than to chatter like this.” “I suit myself to my company!” I laughed, and waited for Véronique, who had stopped respectfully behind--she came up reluctantly. She disapproves of all English unconventionality, but she feels it her duty to encourage Mr. Carruthers. Should she run on, and stop the young ladies? she suggested, pointing to the angels in front. “Yes, do,” said Mr. Carruthers, and before I could prevent her, she was off. Traitress! She was thinking of her own comfortable quarters at Branches, I know! The sharp, fresh air, got into my head. I felt gay, and without care. I said heaps of things to Mr. Carruthers, just as I had once before to Malcolm, only this was much more fun, because Mr. Carruthers isn’t a red-haired Scotchman, and can see things. It seemed a day of meetings, for when we got down to the end, we encountered Lord Robert, walking leisurely in our direction. He looked as black as night when he caught sight of us. “Hello, Bob!” said Mr. Carruthers, cheerfully. “Ages since I saw you--will you come and dine to-night? I have a box for this winter opera that is on, and I am trying to persuade Miss Travers to come. She says Lady Verningham is not engaged to-night, she knows, and we might dine quietly, and all go, don’t you think so?” Lord Robert said he would, but he added, “Miss Travers would never come out before; she said she was in too deep mourning.” He seemed aggrieved. “I am going to sit in the back of the box, and no one will see me,” I said, “and I do love music so.” “We had better let Lady Verningham know at once then,” said Mr. Carruthers. Lord Robert announced he was going there now, and would tell her.