Julian Wemyss was not so old as you might expect from a man so learned
and so apart from the world. Various reasons had been given for his
retirement to this lonely spot when, during the truce, an appointment as
ambassador extraordinary to Paris was within his grasp. He had acquitted
himself highly on several "missions" already, and there was no doubt
that Vienna was only a step to a permanency in Paris, so soon as the war
should cease. But suddenly Julian Wemyss resigned all his appointments
into the King's hands, and it was whispered that he had done so on
account of a lady so highly placed that even to name her was something
like high treason. This was already years ago and even the memory of it
had grown dim.

Now, Julian Wemyss might be somewhere near fifty years of age, but did
not look a day more than forty, and with certain lights on his face and
that kindly smile of his, wise and tolerant, he looked younger still.

He was erect and slender, not very tall beside Adam, his brother-in-law,
but moving with a light, easy carriage something between that of an
athlete and a favourite of drawing-rooms.

He had the noticeable dark blue eyes that twinkled merrily, yet with
something gloomy in their darkness, as of hyacinths in a woodland glade,
drifting and smoky, like the kind of smoke that comes from weed-burning
or a peat-fire lit on a still day.

His niece, who had heard from Jean Garland some of the talk of the
country, for long dared not ask her uncle point-blank if it were true
about the princess, but she showed such continual curiosity about his
love affairs, that he would keep her waiting while he made an entry in
his diary, or other book of written notes, and then declare solemnly
that the only girl he had ever loved was named Patsy, and was a
thankless brat, unworthy of the care and affection of the best of
uncles.

"Nonsense," his niece would cry, happy, however, all the same to have
him say so.

"A girl named Patsy," he would continue, "who was put into my arms an
hour old to take what care I could of, her father being ill-suited for
the task! I am the only relative she has on her mother's side, and Adam
Ferris is equally solitary on the other. So we must take good care of
the minx, Adam and I. She is all we have, little as she deserves that we
should waste a thought on her--though she threatens to run away with the
first gipsy that comes to the yett, as did the Countess of Cassillis in
the ballad