Dr. Senior’s lawn, in which he takes great pride, slopes gently down to the river, and ends with a stone parapet, over which it is exceedingly pleasant to lean, and watch idly the flowing of the water, which seems to loiter almost reluctantly before passing on to Westminster, and the wharves and docks of the city.  On the opposite bank grows a cluster of cedars, with rich, dark-green branches, showing nearly black against the pale blue of the sky.  In our own lawn there stand three fine elms, a colony for song-birds, under which the turf is carefully kept as smooth and soft as velvet; and seats are set beneath their shadow, where one can linger for hours, seeing the steamers and pleasure-boats passing to and fro, and catching now and then a burst of music or laughter, softened a little by the distance.  My childhood had trained me to be fond of living out-of-doors; and, when the spring came, I spent most of my days under these elm-trees, in the fitful sunshine and showers of an English April and May, such as I had never known before.

From one of these trees I could see very well any one who went in or out through the gate.  But it was not often that I cared to sit there, for Martin came only in an evening, when his day’s work was done, and even then his coming was an uncertainty.  Dr. John seldom missed visiting us, but Martin was often absent for days.  That made me watch all the more eagerly for his coming, and feel how cruelly fast the time fled when he was with us.

But one Sunday afternoon in April I chose my seat there, behind the tree where I could see the gate, without being too plainly seen myself.  Martin had promised Dr. Senior he would come down to Fulham with Dr. John that afternoon, if possible.  The river was quieter than on other days, and all the world seemed calmer.  It was such a day as the one in Sark, two years ago, when I slipped from the cliffs, and Tardif was obliged to go across to Guernsey to fetch a doctor for me.  I wondered if Martin ever thought of it on such a day as this.  But men do not remember little things like these as women do.

I heard the click of the gate at last, and, looking round the great trunk of the tree, I saw them come in together, Dr. John and Martin.  He had kept his promise then!  Minima was gone out somewhere with Dr. Senior, or she would have run to meet them, and so brought them to the place where I was half-hidden.

However, they might see my dress if they chose.  They ought to see it.  I was not going to stand up and show myself.  If they were anxious to find me, and come to me, it was quite simple enough.

But my heart sank when Martin marched straight on, and entered the house alone, while Dr. John came as direct as an arrow toward me.  They knew I was there, then!  Yet Martin avoided me, and left his friend to chatter and laugh the time away.  I was in no mood for laughing; I could rather have wept bitter tears of vexation and disappointment.  But Dr. John was near enough now for me to discern a singular gravity upon his usually gay face.