fter a while. Besides, we have just been saying how perfectly
irresistible you are, and how the ladies love you. You ought to be
grateful for that at any rate."

The last threads ran swiftly over the opened fingers, and Patsy deftly
slid the end into the ball, said "Thank you," and, with a curtsey, went
out by the way of the French window leading to the garden, leaving the
men to themselves.

"Jove," said the Duke, looking after her through the window, "where and
how did you find such a treasure? No wonder you gave up Paris for this.
Like Henry of Navarre, I should give up both Paris and France for such a
mass--a real exile's consolation, good faith. Wemyss, you used to make
me read about Ovid starving for years in the Danube swamps, but this
would be consolation for an exile if he had to roof in the pole to make
himself a house."

"I am sorry," said Julian, somewhat formally, "that I was not in time to
introduce you to my only sister's only daughter, my niece and heiress,
Miss Patricia Wemyss Ferris of Cairn Ferris."

"I beg your pardon," said his Highness. "Captain Laurence made us laugh
so much at a tale he was telling, that I fear the introductions were a
little slipshod. I shall make my apologies to the young lady when I have
the opportunity of bettering the acquaintance."

Julian Wemyss knew very well what was the story which Laurence had been
retailing--that of the disappointed man-hunters at the bothy in the Wild
of Blairmore. But he said nothing, and proceeded to make his young
friend at home in his house of Abbey Burnfoot. He made no apologies.
There was need of none. At Varna and in the little towns along the
Illyrian coast his pupil and he had often had to share far humbler
accommodation.

For though Julian Wemyss lived apart from the world, he kept a small
yacht to keep him in comfortable touch with the outside markets. The
passage to Glasgow was an easy one. Dumfries and the Cumberland ports
were open to him, and so, with the foreign articles which were found in
his outer cellars after a trip of the _Good Intent_ (master and owner,
Captain Penman), no house in the county could produce at short notice so
excellent and various a bill of fare.

A place had been set at dinner for Patsy, but it remained empty. Patsy
had simply disappeared. No one had seen her about the shore, nor had she
been met with along the dusky alders and dimpling birches of the path by
the burnside. Neither had it pleased her to