To Lewis’s youth had come a new impulse so entangled with contact with H lne, with Leighton, and with Natalie that he could not quite define it.  He only knew that it had pushed Folly back in his vision—­so far back that his mind could not fasten upon and hold her in the place to which he had given her a right.  The realization troubled him.  He worried over it, but comforted himself with the thought that once his eyes could feast again upon her living self, she would blot out, as before, all else in life.

He should have arrived in London on Saturday night, but a heavy fog held the steamer to the open sea over night, and it was only late on Sunday morning that he disembarked at Plymouth.  Well on in the afternoon he reached town and rushed to the flat for a wash and a change before seeking Folly.

Eager to taste the pleasures of surprising the lady of his choice, he had sent her no word of his coming, and as a consequence he found her apartment empty—­empty for him, for Folly was not in.  Marie opened the door, and after a few gasping words of welcome told him that Folly had just gone out, that she was driving in the park; but wouldn’t he come in and wait?

At first he said “Yes,” but his impatience did not let him even cross the threshold.  It drove him out to the park with the assurance that it was better to hunt for a needle in a haystack than to sit down and wait for the needle to crawl out to him.  For a while he stood at a point of vantage and watched the long procession of private motor-cars and carriages, but he watched in vain.  Depressed, he started to walk, and his mood carried him away from the throng.

He was walking head down when a lonely carriage standing by the curb drew his eye.  At first he thought desire had deceived his senses.  The equipage looked very like Folly’s smart little victoria, but it was empty, and the man on the box was a stranger.  Lewis approached him doubtfully.  “Is this Miss Delaires’s carriage?” he asked.

The man looked him over before he answered: 

“Yes, sir.”

“Where is Miss Delaires?” asked Lewis, his face brightening.

“Doin’ ’er mile,” replied the coachman.

Lewis waved his hand toward a path to the right questioningly.  The man nodded.  Feeling suddenly young again, Lewis hurried along the path with a long and eager stride.  He had not gone far when he saw a dainty figure, grotesquely accompanied by a ragamuffin, coming toward him.  He did not have to ask himself twice if the dainty figure was Folly’s.  If he had been blind, the singing of the blood in his veins would have spelled her name.

He stepped behind a screening bush and waited to spring out at her.  His eyes fastened curiously upon the ragamuffin.  He could see that he was speaking to Folly, and that she was paying no regard to him.  Presently Lewis could hear what he was saying: 

“Aw, naow, lydy, give us a penny, won’t cher?”