On other matters he
was perfectly rational and he was easy and
pleasing in conversation. He looked very
much like Agassiz, and his wife, in her
old-fashioned black silk dress, overskirted and
tight-sleeved, reminded Alexander of the early
pictures of Mrs. Browning. Hilda seemed
particularly fond of this quaint couple,
and Bartley himself was so pleased with their
mild and thoughtful converse that he took his
leave when they did, and walked with them
over to Oxford Street, where they waited for
their 'bus. They asked him to come to see
them in Chelsea, and they spoke very tenderly
of Hilda. "She's a dear, unworldly little
thing," said the philosopher absently;
"more like the stage people of my young days--
folk ofsimple manners. There aren't many such left.
American tours have spoiled them, I'm afraid.
They have all grown very smart. Lamb wouldn't
care a great deal about many of them, I fancy."
Alexander went back to Bedford Square
a second Sunday afternoon. He had a long
talk with MacConnell, but he got no word with
Hilda alone, and he left in a discontented
state of mind. For the rest of the week
he was nervous and unsettled, and kept
rushing his work as if he were preparing for
immediate departure. On Thursday afternoon
he cut short a committee meeting, jumped into
a hansom, and drove to Bedford Square.
He sent up his card, but it came back to
him with a message scribbled across the front.
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