or the other.

When a week had passed, the novelty of things wore off; the friends
began to wander apart; Miss Steinfeld made acquaintances in the
_pension_, and Alma drifted into solitude. At the end of a fortnight
she was tired of everything, wished to go away, thought longingly of
England. It was plain that Mr. Redgrave would not come; he had never
seriously meant it; his _Auf Wiedersehen_ was a mere civility to get
rid of her in the street. Why had he troubled to inquire about her at
all? Of course it didn't matter--nothing mattered--but if ever she met
him again! Alma tried her features in expression of cold scornfulness.

On the next day, as she was returning from an idle walk with her friend
along the Lindau road, Mr. Redgrave met them. He was dressed as she had
never seen him, in flannels, with a white necktie loosely knotted and a
straw hat. Not till he had come near enough to salute did she recognise
him; he looked ten years younger.

They talked as if the meeting were of daily occurrence. Redgrave
addressed himself to Miss Steinfeld as often as to Alma, and showed a
graceful command of decorous commonplace. He had arrived early this
morning, had put up at the Oesterreichischer Hof, was already delighted
with Brogenz. Did Miss Steinfeld devote herself to landscape? Had she
done anything here? Had Miss Frothingham brought her violin? They
strolled pleasantly to the Hafen promenade, and parted at length with
assurances of meeting again, as if definite appointment were needless.

'That is my idea of the English gentleman,' said Miss Steinfeld
afterwards. 'I think I should have taken him for a lord. No doubt he is
very rich?'

'Oh, pretty well off,' Alma replied, with assumed indifference. 'Ten
thousand pounds a year, I dare say.'

'Ten thousand! _Lieber Himmel_! And married?'

'No.'

'In Parliament, I suppose?'

'No.'

'Then, what does he do?'

'Oh, amuses himself.'

Each became occupied with her thoughts. Alma's were so agreeable, that
Miss Steinfeld, observing her, naturally fell into romantic speculation.

Redgrave easily contrived that his next walk should be with Miss
Frothingham alone. He overtook her next morning, soon after she had
left the house, and they rambled in the Gebhardsberg direction.

'Now let us have the promised talk,' he began at a favourable moment.
'I've been thinking about you all the time.'

'Did you go to your place on Lake Garda?'

'Yes; just to look at it, and ge