orning in February, with a little pale sunshine
playing on the bare trees of the Park. Sir Wilfrid, walking southward
from the Marble Arch to his luncheon with Lady Henry, was gladly
conscious of the warmth of his fur-collared coat, though none the less
ready to envy careless youth as it crossed his path now and then,
great-coatless and ruddy, courting the keen air.

Just as he was about to make his exit towards Mount Street he became
aware of two persons walking southward like himself, but on the other
side of the roadway. He soon identified Captain Warkworth in the slim,
soldierly figure of the man. And the lady? There also, with the help of
his glasses, he was soon informed. Her trim, black hat and her black
cloth costume seemed to him to have a becoming and fashionable
simplicity; and she moved in morning dress, with the same ease and
freedom that had distinguished her in Lady Henry's drawing-room the
night before.

He asked himself whether he should interrupt Mademoiselle Le Breton with
a view to escorting her to Bruton Street. He understood, indeed, that he
and Lady Henry were to be alone at luncheon; Mademoiselle Julie had, no
doubt, her own quarters and attendants. But she seemed to be on her way
home. An opportunity for some perhaps exploratory conversation with her
before he found himself face to face with Lady Henry seemed to him not
undesirable.

But he quickly decided to walk on. Mademoiselle Le Breton and Captain
Warkworth paused in their walk, about no doubt to say good-bye, but,
very clearly, loath to say it. They were, indeed, in earnest
conversation. The Captain spoke with eagerness; Mademoiselle Julie, with
downcast eyes, smiled and listened.

"Is the fellow making love to her?" thought the old man, in some
astonishment, as he turned away. "Hardly the place for it either, one
would suppose."

He vaguely thought that he would both sound and warn Lady Henry. Warn
her of what? He happened on the way home to have been thrown with a
couple of Indian officers whose personal opinion of Harry Warkworth was
not a very high one, in spite of the brilliant distinction which the
young man had earned for himself in the Afridi campaign just closed. But
how was he to hand that sort of thing on to Lady Henry?--and because he
happened to have seen her lady companion and Harry Warkworth together?
No doubt Mademoiselle Julie was on her employer's business.

Yet the little encounter added somehow to his already liv