he had at least one friend in the house of Mavick.

It was a warm spring day, a stray day sent in advance, as it were, to
warn the nomads of the city that it was time to move on. The tramps in
Washington Square felt the genial impulse, and, seeking the shaded
benches, began to dream of the open country, the hospitable farmhouses,
the nooning by wayside springs, and the charm of wandering at will among
a tolerant and not too watchful people. Having the same abundant
leisure, the dwellers up-town--also nomads--were casting in their minds
how best to employ it, and the fortunate ones were already gathering
together their flocks and herds and preparing to move on to their camps
at Newport or among the feeding-hills of the New-England coast.

The foliage of Central Park, already heavy, still preserved the freshness
of its new birth, and invited the stroller on the Avenue to its
protecting shade. At Miss McDonald's suggestion they turned in and found
a secluded seat.

"I often come here," she said to Philip; "it is almost as peaceful as the
wilderness itself."

To Philip also it seemed peaceful, but the soothing influence he found in
it was that he was sitting with the woman who saw Evelyn hourly, who had
been with her only an hour ago.

"Yes," she said, in reply to a question, "everybody is well. We are
going to leave town earlier than usual this summer, as soon as Mr. Mavick
returns. Mrs. Mavick is going to open her Newport house; she says she
has had enough of the country. It is still very amusing to me to see how
you Americans move about with the seasons, just like the barbarians of
Turkestan, half the year in summer camps and half the year in winter
camps."

"Perhaps," said Philip, "it is because the social pasturage gets poor."

"Maybe," replied the governess, continuing the conceit, "only the horde
keeps pretty well together, wherever it is. I know we are to have a very
gay season. Lots of distinguished foreigners and all that."

"But," said Philip, "don't England and the Continent long for the
presence of Americans in the season in the same way?"

"Not exactly. It is the shop-keepers and hotels that sigh for the
Americans. I don't think that American shop-keepers expect much of
foreigners."

"And you are going soon? I suppose Miss Mavick is eager to go also,"
said Philip, trying to speak indifferently.

Miss McDonald turned towards him with a look of perfect understanding,
and then replied, "No, not eager