ave me that night, I stopped him.

"Colonel," said I, "I trust you enjoyed the supper."

"It was the most delightful I have ever--_heard_," he said.

XXIII

AT THE INN OF THE TWISTED PINES

I lunched with the King and the Princess Dehra as arranged. Frederick
left before the coffee, and Dehra ordered it served in her library.
When the footman had brought it she dismissed him.

"Now," said she, "come and tell me all about yourself."

I went over and sat on the arm of her chair. She lit a cigarette and
put it between my lips--then, lit one for herself.

"Do you remember the first time you did that?" I asked.

"Yes," said she, "it was the night you flirted so outrageously with me
in front of Lotzen."

"I don't care what you call it, since we are not flirting now," said I.

She took my hand between hers and smiled up at me.

"And, maybe, it was not all flirting, then," she said.

There are certain occasions which justify certain actions. I thought
this was one.

Then I said: "Tell me about Lotzen's visit with you in the North."

"He was there a week."

"More's the pity," said I.

"For him--yes."

"For him?" I echoed.

She nodded. "I feel very sorry for Ferdinand." Then she blushed. "I
think he does love me, Armand."

"I can't blame him for that," said I. "He's a queer sort if he
doesn't."

"Foolish!" she laughed, giving me a little tap with her fan. "And you
see, dear, he might have had a chance if you had not come."

I bent down until her hair brushed my face.

"And he has none now, sweetheart?" I said softly.

"You know that he has not."

"And does he know it?"

"Yes--he knows it--now. I told him the day he left."

I was beginning to understand Lotzen's sudden change of demeanor toward
me.

"What did you tell him, little woman?" I asked.

She looked up with a bright smile.

"See how I've spoiled you," she said.

"Then, spoil me just a little more," I urged.

"Well--I told him it was you," she whispered.

The understanding was growing rapidly.

"And what did he say to that?"

"I know, Armand, you don't like him; and, there, you may do him an
injustice. He said only the kindest things about you--that you were
able, courteous, brave--a true Dalberg; and that, if it could not be
he, he was glad it was you."

I smiled. "That was clever of him," I commented.

"And he, too, does not believe the Spencer woman's story."

"His cleverness grows," I laughed. "It onl