Wilfrid bowed, half-laughing, in a luxurious abandonment to his sensations.  Possibly because of their rule over him then, the change in him was so instant from flattered delight to vexed perplexity.  Rounding one of the rhododendron banks, just as he lifted his head from that acknowledgment of the lady’s commendation, he had sight of Emilia with her hand in the hand of Captain Gambier.  What could it mean? what right had he to hold her hand?  Even if he knew her, what right?

The words between Emilia and Captain Gambier were few.

“Why did I not look at you during dinner?” said he.  “Was it not better to wait till we could meet?”

“Then you will walk with me and talk to me all the evening?”

“No:  but I will try and come down here next week and meet you again.”

“Are you going to-night?”

“Yes.”

“To-night?  To-night before it strikes a quarter to ten, I am going to leave here alone.  If you would come with me!  I want a companion.  I know they will not hurt me, but I don’t like being alone.  I have given my promise to sing to some poor people.  My friends say I must not go.  I must go.  I can’t break a promise to poor people.  And you have never heard me really sing my best.  Come with me, and I will.”

Captain Gambier required certain explanations.  He saw that a companion and protection would be needed by his curious little friend, and as she was resolved not to break her word, he engaged to take her in the carriage that was to drive him to the station.

“You make me give up an appointment in town,” he said.

“Ah, but you will hear me sing,” returned Emilia.  “We will drive to Brookfield and get my harp, and then to Ipley Common.  I am to be sure you will be ready with the carriage at just a quarter to ten?”

The Captain gave her his assurance, and they separated; he to seek out Adela, she to wander about, the calmest of conspirators against the serenity of a household.

Meeting Wilfrid and Lady Charlotte, Emilia was asked by him, who it was she had quitted so abruptly.

“That is the gentleman I told you of.  Now I know his name.  It is Captain Gambier.”

She was allowed to pass on.

“What is this she says?” Lady Charlotte asked.

“It appears...something about a meeting somewhere accidentally, in the park, in London, I think; I really don’t know.  She had forgotten his name.”

Lady Charlotte spurred him with an interrogative “Yes?”

“She wanted to remember his name.  That’s all.  He was kind to her.”

“But, after all,” remonstrated Lady Charlotte, “that’s only a characteristic of young men, is it not? no special distinction.  You are all kind to girls, to women, to anything!”

Captain Gambier and Adela crossed their path.  He spoke a passing word, Lady Charlotte returned no answer, and was silent to her companion for some minutes.  Then she said, “If you feel any responsibility about this little person, take my advice, and don’t let her have appointments and meetings.  They’re bad in any case, and for a girl who has no brother—­has she? no:—­well then, you should make the best provision you can against the cowardice of men.  Most men are cowards.”