ould give scope for her ambition, which never
could be satisfied like Moravia's with just social things. She would
begin to study English politics and the other great matters which Henry
was interested in. He would find that what she had told him at Carlsbad
was true, and that, although he was naturally prejudiced against
Americans, he would have to admit that she, as his wife, played the part
as well, if not better, than one of his own countrywomen could have
done. She thrilled a little as the picture came up before her of the
large outlook she would have to survey, and the great situation she
would have to adorn, but sure of Henry's devoted kindness and gentleness
all the time.

Yes--she would certainly marry him, perhaps by next year. Mr. Parsons
had written only yesterday, saying he had begun to take steps, as her
freedom must come from the side of her husband--who could divorce her
for desertion. She could not urge this plea against him, since she had
left him of her own free will.

"He will jump at the chance, naturally," she said to herself--"and then,
perhaps, he will marry Daisy Van der Horn!"

She was still a very young woman, you see, for all her four years of
deep education in the world of books!

She put the letter back in her basket below the flowers she had picked,
and prepared to return to the chateau. To arrange various combinations
of color in vases was her peculiar joy--and her flower decorations were
her special care. She was just entering the great towered gate of
Heronac where resided the concierge, when she heard the whir of a motor
approaching in the distance, and she hurriedly slipped inside old
Berthe's parlor. She disliked dust and strangers, who, fortunately, very
seldom came upon this unbeaten track.

She was watching from the window until they should have passed--it could
not be her guests, it was quite an hour too soon, when the motor whizzed
round the bend and stopped short at the gate! It was a big open one, and
the occupants wore goggles over their eyes; but she recognized Lord
Fordyce's figure, as he got out followed by a very tall young man, who
called out cheerily:

"Yes--this must be the brigand's stronghold, Henry; let's thunder at the
bell."

Then for a moment her knees gave way beneath her, and she sank into
Berthe's carved oaken chair. For the voice was the voice of Michael
Arranstoun--and when he pulled the goggles off, she could see, as she
peered through the window,