fess to being turned out."

"Certainly not. I shall say nothing, you may be sure."

"Good-by, then. I shall tell your mother you are looking _wretchedly_."

"Pray do not," cried Katherine, but the conductor's loud stamping on his
perch to start the driver drowned her voice.

It was a fine evening, fresh, too, with a slight crispness, and
Katherine could not resist the temptation of a walk in Regent's Park.
She felt her spirits, which had been greatly depressed, somewhat revived
by the free air, the sight of grass and trees. Still she could not
answer the question which often tormented her, "If my mother cannot sell
her book, how will it all end--must I remain as a hostage forever?" It
was a gloomy outlook.

She did not allow herself to stray far; crossing the foot-bridge over
the Regent's Canal, she turned down a street which led by a circuit
toward her abode. It skirted Primrose Hill for a few yards, and as she
passed one of the gates admitting to the path which crosses it, a
gentleman came out, and after an instant's hesitation raised his hat.
Katherine recognized the man who had rescued Cecil at Hyde Park Corner.
She smiled and bowed, frankly pleased to meet him again; it was so
refreshing to see a bright, kindly face--a face, too, that looked glad
to see her.

"May I venture to inquire for my little friend?" said the gentleman,
respectfully. "I trust he was not the worse for his adventure?"

"Not at all, thanks to your promptness," said Katherine, pausing. "I
have only just parted with him and his mother. She would have been very
glad of an opportunity to thank you."

"So slight a service scarcely needs your thanks," he said, in a soft,
agreeable voice, as he turned and walked beside her.

Katherine made no objection; she knew he was an acquaintance of Colonel
Ormonde, and it was too pleasant a chance of speaking to a civilized
human being to be lost. Her new acquaintance was good-looking without
being handsome, with a peculiarly happy expression, and honest, kindly
light-brown eyes. He was about middle height, but well set up, and
carried himself like a soldier.

"Then your little charge does not live with you?" he asked.

"Not now. I am staying with my uncle. Cecil lives with his mother and
mine at Bayswater."

"Indeed! I think my old friend, Colonel Ormonde, knows the young
gentleman's mother."

"He does."

"Then, may I introduce myself to you? My name is Payne--Gilbert Payne."

"Oh, indeed!" r