e that it was from
terror that Miss Lind handed over the man to me--it was from kindness.
That is more natural to her than terror."

"Ah, I know the dear child has the courage of an army," said the little
old lady, tapping her adopted daughter on the shoulder with the fan.
"But she must take care of herself while her papa is away in America."

Natalie rose; and of course Brand rose also, with a sudden qualm of
disappointment, for he took that as the signal of his dismissal; and he
had scarcely spoken a word to her.

"Mr. Brand," said she, with some little trifle of embarrassment, "I know
I must have deprived you of your luncheon. It was so kind of you to go
at once with the poor man. Would it save you time--if you are not going
anywhere--I thought perhaps you might come and have something with
madame and myself. You must be dying of hunger."

He did not refuse the invitation. And behold! when he went down-stairs,
the table was already laid for three; had he been expected, he asked
himself? Those flowers there, too: he knew it was no maid-servant's
fingers that had arranged and distributed them so skilfully.

How he blessed this little Polish lady, and her volubility, and her
extravagant, subtle, honest flattery of her dear adopted daughter! It
gave him liberty to steep himself in the rich consciousness of Natalie's
presence; he could listen in silence for the sound of her voice--he
could covertly watch the beauty of her shapely hands--without being
considered preoccupied or morose. All he had to do was to say, "Yes,
madame," or "Indeed, madame," the while he knew that Natalie Lind was
breathing the same air with him--that at any moment the large, lustrous
dark eyes might look up and meet his. And she spoke little, too; and had
scarcely her usual frank self-confidence: perhaps a chance reference of
Madame Potecki to the fact that her adopted daughter had been brought up
without a mother had somewhat saddened her.

The room was shaded in a measure, for the French silk blinds were down;
but there was a soft golden glow prevailing all the same. For many a day
George Brand remembered that little luncheon-party; the dull, bronze
glow of the room; the flowers; the soft, downcast eyes opposite him; the
bright, pleasant garrulity of the little Polish lady; and always--ah,
the delight of it!--that strange, trembling, sweet consciousness that
Natalie Lind was listening as he listened--that almost he could have
heard the beat