osamond's Pond was at the
south-west corner of the Park and Rosamond's Pond was in Lavinia's mind.
It had occurred to her that Lancelot had not fixed any particular spot
as the place of meeting. The pond was of a fair size, it would be dark
and it might so happen that while he was waiting for her on one side she
might be on the other. Still, this was scarcely likely, for they would
both approach the Pond from the east.

However, there would be no harm in fixing the bearings of the pond in
her mind and so she crossed the park and skirting the formal canal now
transformed into the ornamental water, reached the pond which was at the
end of Birdcage Walk near Buckingham House, an enlarged version of which
is known to us to-day as Buckingham Palace.

The pond was amidst picturesque surroundings. There was nothing of the
primness which William III. had brought with him from Holland. The
trees had been allowed to grow as they pleased, the shrubs were
untrimmed, the grass uncut. The banks of the pond were steep in places,
shelving in others. Here and there were muddy patches left by the water
receding after heavy rains. But the wildness and the seclusion had their
attractions, and little wonder was it that love had marked Rosamond's
Pond as its own.

There was something like a promenade on the higher ground to the east.
Here it was dry and Lavinia decided that this was the most likely spot
which Lancelot would select. Moreover, a path from the Mall near St.
James's Palace led direct to the Pond and by this path Vane would be
sure to come.

The crisp air was exhilarating and the young grass gave it sweetness.
The twittering of the birds suggested a passage of love. The mid-day sun
shone upon the distant Abbey and very romantic did its towers look
against the blue sky.

Lavinia's spirits rose. She felt very happy. Her real life was
beginning. All that had happened, her mad escapade with Dorrimore, the
baseness of her mother, her escape from the house in the Old Bailey, her
many trials and tribulations were mere trifles to be forgotten as soon
as possible. But her thoughts of Lancelot Vane--oh, they were serious
enough. There was no pretence about them. And to fill her cup of joy
would be her first appearance on the stage!

For a brief space this overpowered everything. Coming to a bench she sat
down, drew out the manuscript of the play and read over her part and
recalled everything Spiller had said about the various points