f my diplomatic _coup_. Meanwhile,
we'll discuss Shakespeare and the musical glasses."

"Anything but the Contessa," said the Boy, springing up, and cramming
his panama over his curls. "I shall breathe more freely on the other
side of the gate, and I shan't consider myself out of the scrape until
I'm out of her house for good."

In the street he drew fuller breaths, and with each yard of distance
that we put between ourselves and the villa his eyes grew brighter and
his step more airy.

I unfolded my plan for the morning, which was to take a trip up the
lake to the Abbey of Hautecombe, and return in time for _dejeuner_,
since, as a guest of the Contessa, the Boy could scarcely absent
himself all day without conspicuous rudeness. "You'll have to be tied
to the lady's apron strings, if she wants you knotted there, for the
afternoon," said I. "But I'm going to have a telegram from my friends
to meet them on the top of Mont Revard to-morrow, so if you want an
excuse----"

"What, your friends the Winstons?" he broke in, with one of the sudden
flaming blushes that made him seem so young.

"Yes, why not?"

"They are coming to join you?"

"I told you they might turn up at any moment, and----"

"And now the moment has arrived. Then it has also arrived for us to
say good-bye."

"Do you mean that?"

"Oh, don't think me ungrateful--or ungracious. I'm neither. But, in
any case, we must sooner or later have reached the parting of the
ways. You are bound to Monte Carlo. I have--the vaguest plans."

"I thought you said that your sister might be going there with
friends."

"But my sister and I are--very different persons."

"Surely you would wish to meet her there?"

"It's rather undecided at present, anyhow," returned the Boy, his eyes
bent on the ground as we walked, our steps less sprightly now.
"There's only one thing settled, which is, that I can't go with you up
Mont Revard to meet--people."

"There isn't the slightest chance of my meeting anyone there, friend
Diogenes," I began. "I was only waiting for you to give me time to
explain, since you're inclined to be obtuse, the difference between
sending a telegram to yourself, and----"

"Oh, I see. You aren't going to meet a soul on Mont Revard?"

"Not even an astral body--by appointment. And the plan was made for
your deliverance. Rather hard lines that you should kick at it."

He looked up, laughing and merry once more. "I won't kick again. Man,
you are--we