ncircled him, appeared at
five o'clock in Hilary's study doorway.

"She has not come," he said.

Hilary laid down his pen. It was the first real Spring day.

"Will you come for a walk with me, sir, instead?" he asked.

"Yes," said Mr. Stone.

They walked out into Kensington Gardens, Hilary with his head rather
bent towards the ground, and Mr. Stone, with eyes fixed on his far
thoughts, slightly poking forward his silver beard.

In their favourite firmaments the stars of crocuses and daffodils
were shining. Almost every tree had its pigeon cooing, every bush its
blackbird in full song. And on the paths were babies in perambulators.
These were their happy hunting-grounds, and here they came each day to
watch from a safe distance the little dirty girls sitting on the grass
nursing little dirty boys, to listen to the ceaseless chatter of these
common urchins, and learn to deal with the great problem of the lowest
classes. And babies sat in their perambulators, thinking and sucking
india-rubber tubes. Dogs went before them, and nursemaids followed
after.

The spirit of colour was flying in the distant trees, swathing them with
brownish-purple haze; the sky was saffroned by dying sunlight. It was
such a day as brings a longing to the heart, like that which the moon
brings to the hearts of children.

Mr. Stone and Hilary sat down in the Broad Walk.

"Elm-trees!" said Mr. Stone. "It is not known when they assumed their
present shape. They have one universal soul. It is the same with man."
He ceased, and Hilary looked round uneasily. They were alone on the
bench.

Mr. Stone's voice rose again. "Their form and balance is their single
soul; they have preserved it from century to century. This is all they
live for. In those days"--his voice sank; he had plainly forgotten that
he was not alone--"when men had no universal conceptions, they would
have done well to look at the trees. Instead of fostering a number of
little souls on the pabulum of varying theories of future life, they
should have been concerned to improve their present shapes, and thus to
dignify man's single soul."

"Elms were always considered dangerous trees, I believe," said Hilary.

Mr. Stone turned, and, seeing his son-in-law beside him, asked:

"You spoke to me, I think?"

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Stone said wistfully:

"Shall we walk?"

They rose from the bench and walked on....

The explanation of the little model's absence was thus stated by he