ticipated
no trouble with the outer barrier, but in this he was wrong. It was
padlocked, and flight was impossible. His sense of humor conquered
resentment, and he smiled. "I give in," he thought: "well, I have tried
to be a good boy." He hung up his hat again and returned to the
sitting-room. Then he rang the bell. As he had expected, it was answered
by the maid.

"Monsieur wishes to retire?" she asked, with a polite sympathy for a
handsome man.

"I should prefer to be let to go home," he said pleasantly, "but I
suppose I'm to be kept a prisoner."

The maid looked puzzled.

"Madame has locked the door and gone to sleep this half-hour. I dare not
wake her for the keys. Besides, she expects you to remain."

"Then will you show me my room, please?" he said, accepting defeat.
Whether Mizzi was as innocent as she seemed he could not decide, but now
he was determined to let things take their course. She held the door
open for him, and as he passed he caught an amused twinkle in her eyes.
He yearned to give her a good shaking and say "Explain!" and presently
kiss her heartily, for she was exceedingly attractive. This impulse he
controlled, and the next moment found himself in his bedroom.

"Breakfast is at half past nine," said Mizzi, as she drew a curtain. "At
what time does monsieur wish to be called?"

"Oh ... about nine o'clock ... thank you ... good night."

"Good night, monsieur," said the maid demurely as she tripped to the
door, and then a lamentable accident occurred. It was due to the
eccentricities of modern fashion. For several years Lionel had carried
his handkerchief secreted in his cuff. As Mizzi stepped daintily past,
the handkerchief, which had been working loose, fell to the ground. He
and she stooped together for its recovery, and their heads approached
nearer than was discreet. Her fingers reached the handkerchief first,
and she restored it as they were rising. This was pardonable, but she
ought not to have looked him in the face. Her eyes telegraphed "I like
you," and his, something more. Without judicious reflection Lionel
clasped her. "You are a perfect darling!" he whispered, "and I simply
must kiss you--it is what you were made for."

"Oh, monsieur!" gasped Mizzi, "it is a scandal!"

"Yes," agreed Lionel, "I suppose it is. But it would be a graver scandal
not to kiss such a bouquet of charms. There, my attractive
morsel--another ... a butterfly salutation on your charming eyes,
and ... go