only five minutes from the west-postern of the park. Is she
going to sing any more? There's company apparently. Shall we go and
declare ourselves?"

"I'm on duty, and can't," replied Tracy, and twisting his body in an
ecstasy, added: "Did you hear her?"

Lady Charlotte laughed softly. "You speak as if you had taken a hurt, my
dear boy. This sort of scene is dangerous to poets. But, I thought you
slighted music."

"I don't know whether I'm breathing yet," Tracy rejoined. She's a Goddess
to me from this moment. Not like music? Am I a dolt? She would raise me
from the dead, if she sang over me. Put me in a boat, and let her sing
on, and all may end! I could die into colour, hearing her! That's the
voice they hear in heaven."

"When they are good, I suppose," the irreverent lady appended. "What's
that?" And she held her head to listen.

Emilia's mortal tones were calling Wilfrid's name. The lady became grave,
as with keen eyes she watched the open space, and to a second call
Wilfrid presented himself in a leisurely way from under cover of the
trees; stepping into the square towards the three, as one equal to all
occasions, and specially prepared for this. He was observed to bow to Mr.
Pericles, and the two men extended hands, Laura Tinley standing decently
away from them.

Lady Charlotte could not contain her mystification. "What does it mean?"
she said. "Wilfrid was to be in town at the Ambassador's to-night! He
wrote to me at five o'clock from his Club! Is he insane? Has he lost
every sense of self-interest? He can't have made up his mind to miss his
opportunity, when all the introductions are there! Run, like a good
creature, Tracy, and see if that is Wilfrid, and come back and tell me;
but don't sag I am here."

"Desert my post?" Tracy hugged his arms tight together. "Not if I freeze
here!"

The doubt in Lady Charlotte's eyes was transient. She dropped her glass.
Visible adieux were being waved between Mr. Pericles and Laura Tinley on
the one hand, and Wilfrid and Emilia, on the other. After which, and at a
quick pace, manifestly shivering, Mr. Pericles drew Laura into the
shadows, and Emilia, clad in the immense bearskin, as with a trailing
black barbaric robe, walked toward the oaks. Wilfrid's head was stooped
to a level with Emilia's, into whose face he was looking obliviously,
while the hot words sprang from his lips. They neared the oak, and Emilia
slanted her direction, so as to avoid the neighbourhood