he to meet him--this man whom she
had so cruelly treated? She could _not_ meet him; she felt that it was an
impossibility. Like an imprisoned bird that seeks to escape, she looked
about instinctively from side to side. What possible excuse could she
frame? In what direction could she fly to avoid the glance of reproach
that would smite her to the heart.

Suddenly Denis Wilde bent down over her.

"Miss Nevill, there goes a _Dachshund_, exactly like the one you wanted;
come quickly, and we shall catch him up. He ran away down here."

She sprang up and turned after him; a path leading away from the crowded
Row, towards the comparatively empty park at the back, opened out
immediately behind her chair.

Young Wilde strode rapidly along it before her, and Vera followed him
blindly and thankfully.

After a few minutes he stopped and turned round.

"Where is--the dog--wasn't it a dog, you said? Where is it?" She was
white and trembling.

"There is no dog," he answered, not looking at her. "I--I saw you wanted
to get away for a minute. You will forgive me, won't you?"

Vera looked at him with a sudden earnestness. The watchfulness which had
seen her distress, the ready tact which had guessed at her desire to
escape, and had so promptly suggested the manner of it, touched her
suddenly. She put forth her hand gently and almost timidly.

"Thank you," she said, simply. "I did not imagine you were so clever--or
so kind."

The boy blushed deeply with pleasure. He did not know her trouble, but
the keen eye of love had guessed at its existence. It had been easy for
him who watched her every look, who knew every shade and every line of
her face, to tell that she was in distress, to interpret her pallor and
her trembling terror aright.

"You don't want to go back?" he asked.

"Oh, no, I cannot go back! Besides, I am tired; it is time to go home."

"Stay here, then, and I will call Mrs. Hazeldine."

He left her standing alone upon the grass, and went back to the crowded
path. Presently he returned with her friend.

"My dear Vera, what is the matter? The boy says you have such a headache!
I am so sorry, and I wouldn't let any of those chattering fools come back
to lunch. Why, you look quite pale, child! Will it be too much for you to
have the boy, because we will send him away, too, if you like?"

But Vera turned round and smiled upon the boy.

"Oh, no, let him come, certainly; but let us go home, all three of us at
onc