riments with air-ships that they don't understand. Voila! As
for me, I am more than happy. I have my forest and my fields; I
have my horses and my books. I dress as I choose; I go where I
choose. Am I not happy, Monsieur Marche?"

"I should say," he admitted, "that you are."

"You see," she continued, with a pretty, confidential nod, "I can
talk to you because you are the vicomte's American nephew, and I
have heard all about you and your lovely sister, and it is all
right--isn't it?"

"It is," said Marche, fervently.

"Of course. Now I shall tell you why I did not go to the Chateau
and meet your sister and the others. Perhaps you will not
comprehend. Shall I tell you?"

"I'll try to comprehend," said Marche, laughing.

"Well, then, would you believe it? I--Lorraine de Nesville--have
outgrown my clothes, monsieur, and my beautiful new gowns are
coming from Paris this week, and then--"

"Then!" repeated Marche.

"Then you shall see," said Lorraine, gravely.

Jack, bewildered, fascinated, stood leaning on his gun, watching
every movement of the lithe figure before him.

"Until your gowns arrive, I shall not see you again?" he asked.

She looked up quickly.

"Do you wish to?"

"Very much!" he blurted out, and then, aware of the undue fervor
he had shown, repeated: "Very much--if you don't mind," in a
subdued but anxious voice.

Again she raised her eyes to his, doubtfully, perhaps a little
wistfully.

"It wouldn't be right, would it--until you are presented?"

He was silent.

"Still," she said, looking up into the sky, "I often come to the
river below, usually after luncheon."

"I wonder if there are any gudgeon there?" he said; "I could
bring a rod--"

"Oh, but are you coming? Is that right? I think there are fish
there," she added, innocently, "and I usually come after
luncheon."

"And when your gowns arrive from Paris--"

"Then! Then you shall see! Oh! I shall be a very different
person; I shall be timid and silent and stupid and awkward, and I
shall answer, 'Oui, monsieur;' 'Non, monsieur,' and you will
behold in me the jeune fille of the romances."

"Don't!" he protested.

"I shall!" she cried, shaking out her scarlet skirts full
breadth. "Good-by!"

In a second she had gone, straight away through the forest,
leaving in his ears the music of her voice, on his finger-tips
the touch of her warm hand.

He stood, leaning on his gun--a minute, an hour?--he did not
know.

Presently ear