craps of
melodies to himself in his deep baritone.

Miss Jensen, who had once been a journalist, was an earnest worker for
woman's emancipation, and having now successfully mounted her hobby,
spoke with a thought-deadening eloquence. Maurice had never been called
on to think about the matter, and listened to her words
absent-mindedly, comparing her, as she swept along, to a ship in full
sail. She was just asserting that the ordinary German woman was little
more than means to an end, the end being the man-child, when his
attention was arrested, and, in an instant, jerked far away from Miss
Jensen's theories. As they reached the bend of a path, a sound of
voices came to them through the trees, and on turning a corner, Maurice
caught a glimpse of two people who were going in the opposite
direction, down a side-walk--a passing but vivid glimpse of a light,
flowered dress, of a grey suit of clothes, and auburn hair. Ephie! He
could have sworn to voice and dress; but to whom in all the world was
she talking, so confidentially? At the name that rose to his lips, he
almost stopped short, but the next moment he was afraid lest his
companions should also have seen who it was, and, quickening his steps,
he incited Miss Jensen to talk on. First, however, that lady said in a
surprised tone: "Say, that was Mr. Schilsky, wasn't it? Who was the
lady? Did you perceive?" So there was no possible doubt of it.

After parting from his companions, he did an errand in the town, and
from there went to the Cayhills' PENSION, determined to ascertain
whether it had really been Ephie he had seen, and if so, what the
meaning of it was.

Mrs. Cayhill and Johanna were in the sitting-room; Johanna looked very
surprised to see him. They had this moment risen from the supper-table,
she told him; Ephie had only just got home in time. Before anything
further could be said, Ephie herself came into the room; her face was
flushed, and she did not seem well-pleased at his unexpected visit. She
hardly greeted him, and instead, commenced talking about the weather.

"Then you had a pleasant walk?" asked Johanna in a preoccupied fashion,
without looking up from the letter she was writing; and before Maurice
could speak, Ephie, fondling her sister's neck, answered: "How could it
be anything but sweet--after the rain?"

In the face of this frankness, it was on Maurice's tongue to say: "Then
it was you, I saw?" but again she did not give him time. Still standin