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Then to the left and up Dawson Street, past the Mansion House, an uninspired building, into one of the noble squares that the city possesses. The heart of this square was a public garden called Stephen’s Green. I crossed the road, which was wide and straight, and entered the park by a little gate in the iron railings.

The sun poured out of the sky, and the place was full of nurses and babies. Two lakes, divided by a bridge, filled all the centre of the place, and ducks and seagulls and small children disputed for bits of bread round the edges. It was the scene one meets in all city parks; but it was specially charming owing to the sun and the twisting walks.

I was looking for a chair when I discovered 47 strolling down the path. He had seen me; he always saw me first. He looked just the same as when we had said good-bye at Hyde Park Corner.

“So you came over?” he said.

“Yes.”

“You’ll find it worth while.”

The place was the best in the gardens for a talk. Two chairs were beside us. We sat down with mutual consent.