er this letter or acknowledge the cheque. I
suppose the bishops kept her very busy.

In August that year I met Lalage again for the first time since I had
seen her off to school from the station at Drumbo. I did not recognize
her at first. Four years make a great difference in a girl when she is
passing from the age of fourteen onward. Besides, I was not in the least
expecting to see her.

Mont 'Estoril is a watering place near the mouth of the Tagus. In spite
of the fact that some misguided people advertise its attractions and
call it the Riviera of Portugal, it is a pleasant spot to live in when
Lisbon is very hot. There are several excellent hotels there and I have
found it a good plan to migrate from the capital and settle down in Mont
'Estoril for June, July and August. I have to go into Lisbon every day,
but this is no great hardship, for there is a convenient train service.
I usually catch what the Portuguese call a train of "great velocity" and
arrive at the Caes da Sodre railway station a few minutes after eleven
o'clock. From that I go, partly on foot, partly in a tram, to the
embassy and spend my time there in the usual way.

One morning--I have kept a note of the date; it was the ninth of
August--I saw a large crowd of people, plainly tourists, standing
together on the footpath, waiting for a tram. The sight was common
enough. Every ten days or so an enterprising steamboat company lands a
bevy of these worthy people in Lisbon. This crowd was a little larger
than usual. It was kept together by three guides who were in charge of
the party and who galloped, barking furiously, along the outskirts of
the herd whenever a wild or frightened tourist made any attempt to break
away. On the opposite side of the road were two young girls. One of
them, very prettily dressed in bright blue, was adjusting a hand camera
with the intention of photographing the tourists and attendant watchdog
guides. She did not succeed, because one of the guides recognized her
as a member of his flock and crossed the road to where she stood. I know
the man slightly. He is a cosmopolitan, a linguist of great skill, who
speaks good English, with Portuguese suavity of manner, in times of
calm, but bad English, with French excitability of gesture, when he is
annoyed. He reasoned, most politely I'm sure, with the two girls. He
wanted them to cross the road and take their places among the other
tourists. The girl in blue handed the camera to her