twelve, if you wish.

"MELANIE REYNIER."

Aleck smiled with satisfaction. Here was a wise venture going through
happily, he hoped. He was pleased that she had named the very hour he
had asked for the night before. That was like her good, frank way of
meeting a situation, and it augured well for the unknown emergencies of
their future life. He had little patience with timidity and
traditional coyness in women, and great admiration for an open and
fearless spirit. Melanie's note almost set his heart thumping.

But not quite; and no one understood the cool nature of that organ
better than Melanie herself. The ladies in the apartment at the
Archangel had lingered at their breakfast, the austerity of which had
been mitigated by a center decoration of orchids and fern,
fresh-touched with dew; or so Madame Reynier had described them to
Melanie, as she brought them to her with the card of Mr. Lloyd-Jones.
Miss Reynier smiled faintly, admired the blossoms and turned away.

The ladies usually spoke French with each other, though occasionally
Madame Reynier dropped into the harsher speech of her native country.
On this morning she did this, telling Melanie, for the tenth time in as
many days, that in her opinion they ought to be going home. Madame
considered this her duty, and felt no real responsibility after the
statement was made. Nevertheless, she was glad to find Melanie
disposed to discuss the matter a little further.

"Do you wish to go home, Auntie, or is it that you think I ought to go?"

"I don't wish to go without you, child, you know that; and I am very
comfortable here. But his Highness, your cousin, is very impatient; I
see that in every letter from Krolvetz. You offended him deeply by
putting off your marriage to Count Lorenzo, and every day now deepens
his indignation against you. I don't like to discuss these things,
Melanie, but I suspect that your action deprives him of a very
necessary revenue; and I understand, better than you do, to what
lengths your cousin is capable of going when he is displeased. You
are, by the law of your country, his ward until you marry. Would it
not be better to submit to him in friendship, rather than to incur his
enmity? After all, he is your next of kin, the head of your family,
and a very powerful man. If we are going home at all, we ought to go
now."

"But suppose we should decide not to go home at all?"

"You will have to go some time, dear child. You