e wide
hall.

If she had thought to mention it to Mrs. Clark, she would surely have
gained permission to wander over this floor of her mother's former
home. As a matter of fact, she had not been inside the place for a
number of years, as the property she had inherited from her mother was
in the hands of a business agent.

Stepping out into the wide hall Charlotta started toward the front
window which overlooked the grounds. In a moment, however, she saw that
the space before the window was occupied by a wheeled chair and that an
American officer was seated there letting the sunlight stream over him.

Undismayed Charlotta walked forward.

"You have been ill and are better, I am glad," she said simply.

She had a curious lack of self-consciousness and a friendliness which
was very charming.

The young officer attempted to rise.

"Why, yes, I am better, thank you. I have been stupidly ill from an
attack of influenza just as my men were on the march toward Germany and
I should have given anything in the world to have been able to go along
with them. However, I must not grumble. I am right again so you need
not be afraid of me. We have been kept pretty well isolated from you.
But won't you have this chair?"

The girl shook her head.

"You are very kind and you can be quite certain I am not afraid of you.
Sit down again, I know you will refuse to confess it, but you do look
pretty weak still. And there is nothing the matter with me. Oh, I have a
few bruises and a broken arm, but after all they are not serious. I
wonder now what I was actually trying to do when I flung myself off my
horse. Have you ever been desperate enough not to care what happened to
you?"

"But you don't mean, Countess Charlotta--"

"How do you know my name?" the girl answered quickly, as if wishing to
forget what she had just confessed. "Are you not Major James Hersey, one
of the youngest majors in the United States overseas service? I think I
have been hearing a good deal of you from Bianca Zoli and the other Red
Cross girls."

Major Jimmie Hersey colored through his pallor, according to his
annoying boyish habit.

"Well, Countess Charlotta, surely _you_ have not counted on remaining a
mystery--not to the American soldiers who have been ill here in your
house, your guests in a fashion. We have seldom had so romantic an
experience as having a countess as a patient along with the American
doughboys and in the selfsame hospital. But I real