There had been no sign of his friend....

Then the crisis came.
That old wall-to-screen marathon had been achieved, and so contemptuously banished.

There was now the great business of marching without aid from one end of the room to the other.

This was a long business, and always hitherto somewhere about the middle of it Ernest Henry had sat down suddenly, pretending, even to himself, that his shoe _hurt_, or that he was bored with the game, and would prefer some other.
There came, then, a beautiful spring evening.

The long low evening sun flooded the room, and somewhere a bell was calling Christian people to their prayers, and somewhere else the old man with the harp, who always came round the Square once every week, was making beautiful music.
Ernest Henry's father had taken the nurse's place for an hour, and was reading a _Globe_ with absorbed attention by the window; Mr.
Wilberforce, senior, was one of London's most famous barristers, and the _Globe_ on this particular afternoon had a great deal to say about this able man's cleverness.