It was a fine evening, fresh, too, with a slight crispness, and Katherine could not resist the temptation of a walk in Regent’s Park.  She felt her spirits, which had been greatly depressed, somewhat revived by the free air, the sight of grass and trees.  Still she could not answer the question which often tormented her, “If my mother cannot sell her book, how will it all end—­must I remain as a hostage forever?” It was a gloomy outlook.

She did not allow herself to stray far; crossing the foot-bridge over the Regent’s Canal, she turned down a street which led by a circuit toward her abode.  It skirted Primrose Hill for a few yards, and as she passed one of the gates admitting to the path which crosses it, a gentleman came out, and after an instant’s hesitation raised his hat.  Katherine recognized the man who had rescued Cecil at Hyde Park Corner.  She smiled and bowed, frankly pleased to meet him again; it was so refreshing to see a bright, kindly face—­a face, too, that looked glad to see her.

“May I venture to inquire for my little friend?” said the gentleman, respectfully.  “I trust he was not the worse for his adventure?”

“Not at all, thanks to your promptness,” said Katherine, pausing.  “I have only just parted with him and his mother.  She would have been very glad of an opportunity to thank you.”

“So slight a service scarcely needs your thanks,” he said, in a soft, agreeable voice, as he turned and walked beside her.

Katherine made no objection; she knew he was an acquaintance of Colonel Ormonde, and it was too pleasant a chance of speaking to a civilized human being to be lost.  Her new acquaintance was good-looking without being handsome, with a peculiarly happy expression, and honest, kindly light-brown eyes.  He was about middle height, but well set up, and carried himself like a soldier.

“Then your little charge does not live with you?” he asked.

“Not now.  I am staying with my uncle.  Cecil lives with his mother and mine at Bayswater.”

“Indeed!  I think my old friend, Colonel Ormonde, knows the young gentleman’s mother.”

“He does.”

“Then, may I introduce myself to you?  My name is Payne—­Gilbert Payne.”

“Oh, indeed!” returned Katherine, with a vague idea that she ought not perhaps to walk with him, yet by no means inclined to dismiss a pleasant companion.

“I fancy your young nephew is a somewhat rebellious subject.”

“He is sometimes very troublesome, but you cannot help liking him.”

“Exactly—­a fine boy.  What bewildering little animals children are!  They ought to teach us humility, they understand us so much better than we understand them.”

“I believe they do, but I never thought of it before.  Have you little brothers and sisters who have taught you this?”

“No.  I am the youngest of my family; but I am interested in a refuge for street children, and I learn much there.”