seemed to her,
indeed, that, with her return home, the correspondence would naturally
come to an end; with a strange ignorance of herself, such as now and
then darkens us, she had suddenly come to attach little value to the
connection. Not improbably, Waymark's last two letters had been forced
and lacking in interest. He had never said anything which could be
construed into more than an expression of friendly interest, or
intellectual sympathy. It may be that Maud's condition, dimly prophetic
of the coming change, required more than this, and she conceived a
certain dissatisfaction. Then came the great event, and for some weeks
she scarcely thought of her correspondent. One day, however, she
chanced upon the little packet of his letters, and read them through
again. It was with new eyes. Thoughts spoke to her which had not been
there on the first reading. Waymark had touched at times on art and
kindred subjects, and only now could she understand his meaning. She
felt that, in breaking off her connection with him, she had lost the
one person who could give her entire sympathy; to whom she might have
spoken with certainty of being understood, of all the novel ideas which
possessed her; who, indeed, would have been invaluable as a guide in
the unknown land she was treading. It was now almost the end of the
year; more than three months had gone by since she received that last
letter from him. Could she write now, and let him know that she was in
London? She could not but give expression to her altered self; and
would he be able to understand her? Yet,--she needed him; and there was
something of her mother in the fretting to which she was now and then
driven by the balked desire. At length she was on the point of writing
a letter, with whatever result, when chance spared her the trouble.

One morning in December, she went with her mother to an exhibition of
pictures in Bond Street. Such visits had been common of late; Mrs.
Enderby could rarely occupy herself at home, and pictures, as
everything beautiful, always attracted her. They had been in the
gallery a few minutes only, when Maud recognised Waymark close at hand.
He was looking closely at a canvas, and seemed quite unaware of her
proximity. She laid her hand on her mother's arm, and spoke in a
nervous whisper.

"Mother, I know that gentleman."

"This one?" asked Mrs. Enderby, indicating Waymark, with a smile. She
showed no surprise, any more than she would have done