‘That’ was Sara Ford, who came sweeping down the room with her head in the air, followed by Herr Falkenberg, to whom she talked in her frank, audible, unconstrained English fashion, and who begged her to come with him to the terrace that he might show her a view which he said ought to be painted. The pair were followed by the disapproving looks of the local _Junkerthum_ before spoken of, and by the round eyes of a number of young German girls, just arrived at that stage in life which is known to their countrymen as the _Backfisch_. Now, a _Backfisch_ is a kind of _ingénue_ not often met amongst English girls; and Sara Ford could never, by any chance, have had anything of the genus about her. Consequently she was an object of wonder, and some disapproval to those who either were or had been _Backfische_ themselves. ‘These English girls!’ sighed one of the native nobility, shaking her head portentously. ‘If I were to see my Paula monopolise a man in that way—but she is incapable of even speaking to a gentleman before he speaks to her. If a girl of mine were to be like that, I should die.’ ‘_Gott_, yes!’ answered another, intently watching, while Herr Falkenberg held open the long glass-door, and Sara stepped through it and down the steps on to the terrace. The sun was setting as the young lady and the banker paced towards the point to which he wished to draw her attention. Sara was dressed in black, and there was nothing costly about her attire; for she was not rich, and her only jewellery consisted in certain old rings and a pearl-necklace, which had long ago belonged to her mother when, as the beautiful Marion Fanshawe, she had been married to Sara’s father. Plain though the dress was, it set her noble beauty off to great advantage; and one felt—at least Herr Falkenberg felt—the same conscientious delight in looking at her grand, simple loveliness, as results from the contemplation of some fine carved gem of ancient days, found perhaps by accident in the midst of a stock of gaudy modern jewellery. Sara had never met Herr Falkenberg before. His name was well known to her and to other artists as a judge of almost unerring taste, and a patron of generous liberality. He was the last of a line of financiers and bankers of princely fortune and passionate devotion to ‘the noble pastime of art.’ She had felt highly flattered when Frau von Trockenau brought him to her, saying: