as a trifle of black velvet caught up at one side with snowy plumes well
calculated to shock the sensibilities of the Audubon Society. Yet the
bird, if he knew, doubtless rejoiced in his fate! Shirley's hand, thrice
laid down, and there you have the length of that velvet cap, plume and
all. Her profile, as she half turned away, must awaken regret that
Reynolds and Gainsborough paint no more; yet let us be practical:
Sargent, in this particular, could not serve us ill.

Her annoyance at finding herself lingering to listen to him was marked in
an almost imperceptible gathering of her brows. It was all the matter of
an instant. His heart beat fast in his joy at the sight of her, and the
tongue that years of practice had skilled in reserve and evasion was
possessed by a reckless spirit.

She nodded carelessly, but said nothing, waiting for him to go on.

"But when I wait for people they always come--even in a strange pergola!"
he added daringly. "Now, in Geneva, not long ago--"

He lost the profile and gained her face as he liked it best, though her
head was lifted a little high in resentment against her own yielding
curiosity. He was speaking rapidly, and the slight hint of some other
tongue than his usually fluent English arrested her ear now, as it had at
other times.

"In Geneva, when I told a young lady that I was waiting for a very wicked
man to appear--it was really the oddest thing in the world that almost
immediately Monsieur Jules Chauvenet arrived at mine own inn! It is
inevitable; it is always sure to be my fate," he concluded mournfully.

He bowed low, restored the shabby hat to his head with the least bit of a
flourish and strolled away through the garden by a broad walk that led to
the front gate.

He would have been interested to know that when he was out of sight
Shirley walked to the veranda rail and bent forward, listening to his
steps on the gravel, after the hedge and shrubbery had hidden him. And
she stood thus until the faint click of the gate told her that he had
gone.

She did not know that as the gate closed upon him he met Chauvenet face
to face.

CHAPTER XIV

AN ENFORCED INTERVIEW

_En, garde, Messieurs_! And if my hand is hard,
Remember I've been buffeting at will;
I am a whit impatient, and 'tis ill
To cross a hungry dog. _Messieurs, en garde_.

--W. Lindsey.

"Monsieur Chauvenet!"

Armitage uncovered smilingly. Chauvenet stared mutely as Armitage paused
with hi