as
inclined to under-rate Madame de Sagan's points. Isolde was not only
wonderfully pretty, but she was endowed with a superficial cleverness,
and kindliness and tact, all of which rendered her irresistible to nine
men out of ten. A moral chameleon, Isolde almost always believed in
herself and her own moods, therefore it was little wonder that the men
whose phases of humour she reflected believed in her also, and moreover
thought her as adorable and as full of delicious changes as Cleopatra.

Isolde had told the story of her adventure to Valerie, dwelling on the
facts that the hero detested--absolutely detested--all other women, also
that in physique he followed the most approved English pattern, and was
an exceptionally good specimen at that. Altogether Valerie had found the
description sufficiently attractive to induce her to pay Rallywood that
coquettish little visit in the ante-room of the Hotel du Chancelier.

While these things passed through her thoughts her eyes were still fixed
upon the blue plume of smoke that rose and melted over Kofn Ford, for
its position indicated the whereabouts of the block-house used by the
Frontier Patrol, and there Rallywood had lived during the early part of
his acquaintance with Isolde.

'What are you thinking of?' inquired Madame de Sagan suddenly; then, as
Valerie made no immediate answer, she added, 'Shall I tell you,
Valerie?'

The other turned, with the pink of sunset lighting up her pale face.

'I don't imagine you can guess,' she said, with a faint smile.

Madame de Sagan's little trill of laughter was not quite so childish and
irresponsible as usual.

'But I can. You were thinking of Rallywood. You think rather often of
Rallywood, my dear girl.'

The guess, so near the truth, startled Valerie, although she gave no
sign. What could have suggested such an idea to Isolde? Instantly
Valerie was on the defensive. Her delicate nostrils quivered slightly,
and her hand--a larger and more capable hand than Isolde's--closed more
firmly upon her father's letter, as she replied, with that firm
directness which was so surprising a trait in her father's daughter:--

'Yes, I was thinking of him--and you. The block-house where he lived is
down there, I can see the smoke. That reminded me of it all. By the way,
Isolde, it seems that some young men have a shade of interest about
them.'

'This one is rather unlike all the others,' returned Madame de Sagan,
with gravity. 'He saved m