“How queer it is,” he said to himself, “that I should feel constrained in this way to run out to Windsor! Land knows! I have no desire to come to be on intimate terms of acquaintance with Evelyn's boys; and what would be the satisfaction of prowling around just to see where they live? Their father gave me up after that time he spoke his mind so freely about my aimless life--as he was pleased to call it--and there is no reason whatever why I should bother myself about my sister's children, since she, poor thing! is dead and gone, and they have enough of this world's goods to make them comfortable. But I would give--yes, I would give a great deal for another glimpse of that child Marie-Celeste--for another talk with her, too, before she goes sailing back to the States, if only that were possible without my coming in contact with any of the rest of the household. Well, there seems to be nothing for it but to go to Windsor to-day, for it looks as though I should not get the best of this state of mind till I do.” Then he turned from the window, put on his coat, which was lying in readiness beside him, strolled out from the club, called for a hansom, directing the driver to take him to the station, and never for one minute admitted to himself that he had risen a whole hour earlier in order to do this very thing, or that he was acting on any stronger impulse than that of a passing fancy, born of the midsummer day, and desire for a little variety. So, out to Windsor he went, and choosing from among the carriages at the depot one that was manned by a respectable-looking old party, took his place on the front seat beside him, remarking that he had simply come down to see the town, and would first like to drive about for an hour.