le dusk moths came hovering on misty wings; the sun
had set, but the zenith was bright crimson. Perhaps it was the reflection
from that high radiance that seemed to tint her face with a softer
carmine.

She looked out into the West across the stream, thinking now that for
them both the end of things was drawing very near. And, to meet fate half
way with serenity--nay, to greet destiny while still far off, with a
smile, she unconsciously straightened in her chair and lifted her proud
little head.

"Lord Marque," she said quietly, "why do you not go back to England?"

For a moment what she had said held no meaning for him. Then
comprehension smote him like lightning; and, thunderstruck, he remained
as he was without moving a muscle, still resting against her window-sill,
his lean, sun-browned face illuminated under the zenith's fiery glory.

"Who are you?" he said, under his breath.

"Only an English girl who happened to have seen you in London."

"When?"

She turned deliberately and, resting one arm across the back of her
chair, looked him steadily in the eyes.

"I am twenty-five. Since I was twenty your face has been familiar to
me."

They exchanged a long and intent gaze.

"I never before saw you," he said.

"Perhaps."

"_Have_ I?"

"Who can know what a fashionable young man really looks at--through a
monocle."

"I don't wear it any more. I lost it out West," he said, reddening.

"You lost your top hat once, too," she said.

He grew red as fire.

"So you've heard of that, too?"

"I saw it."

"You! Saw me attacked?" he demanded angrily, while the shame burnt hotter
on his cheeks.

"Yes. You ran like the devil."

For a moment he remained mute and furious; then shrugged: "What was I to
do?"

"Run," she admitted. "It was the only way."

He managed to smile. "And you were a witness to that?"

She nodded, eyes remote, her teeth nipping at the velvet of her underlip.
He, too, remained lost in gloomy retrospection for a while, but finally
looked up with a more genuine smile.

"I wonder whatever became of that fleet-footed girl who hung to my heels
long after the more solidly constructed aristocracy gave up?"

"Lady Diana Guernsey?"

"That's the one. What became of her?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because she gave me the run of my life. She was a good sport, that girl.
I couldn't shake her off; I took to a taxi and she after me in another;
my taxi broke down in the suburbs and I started across