aria Dolores, to console him. "You weren't a figure of fun.
Your costume had the air of being an impromptu, but," she laughed, "your
native dignity shone through."

"Thank you," said John, bowing. "The next time I saw you was that same
afternoon. You were with Annunziata in the avenue. I carried my vision
of you, like a melody, all the way to Roccadoro-and all the way home
again."

"I had just made Annunziata's acquaintance," said Maria Dolores.

"You had a white sunshade and a lilac frock," said John. "The next time
was that night in the moonlight. You were all in white, with a scarf of
white lace over your hair. You threw me a white rose from your
balcony--and I have carried that rose with me ever since."

"I threw you a white rose?" doubted Maria Dolores, looking up, at fault.

"Yes," said John. "Have you forgotten it?"

"I certainly have," said she, with emphasis.

"You threw me a smile that was like a white rose," said he.

She laughed.

"I think I just distantly acknowledged your bow," she said.

"Well, some people's distant acknowledgments are like white roses," said
he. "I hope, at least, you remember what a glorious night it was, and
how the nightingales were singing?"

"Yes," said she. "I remember that."

"I have a fancy," he declared, "that it will be a more glorious night
still to-night, and that the nightingales will sing better than they
have ever sung before."

Maria Dolores did not speak.

"Do you happen," John asked, after a long silence, while they gazed at
the deepening colours in the west, "do you happen to possess such a
thing as a copy of the Almanach de Gotha?"

"Yes," said she.

"Really? I wonder whether you will lend it to me?"

"I am sorry--it is in Vienna." And after an instant's pause, she
ventured, "What, if it isn't indiscreet to inquire, do you wish to look
up?"

"I wish to look up a lady--a dream lady--a lady who walks in beauty like
the night of cloudless climes--and whose pocket-handkerchiefs are
embroidered with the initials M.D., in a cypher, under a princely
crown."

"I should think," said Maria Dolores, considering, "that she would
probably be a member of one of the mediatised princely houses. But if
you have nothing more than her initials to go by, you would find it
difficult to trace her in the Almanach de Gotha."

"No doubt," said John. "But to a man of spirit a difficulty is a
challenge."

"Do you make a practice," asked she, "of appropriating people'