not forgotten! He had searched for
her--found her! She meant to ignore him if they should meet; certainly
she must do that! His assurance in daring to--yet--yes, she rather
liked the daring--still----!

She remembered some one saying that impertinence gained more favors
from women than respect, and he--yes, certainly he was impertinent;
she must never recognize him, of course--never! Her cheek burned as
she fancied what he must think of her--a girl who made friends with
strangers in the park! Yet she was glad that since he had not let her
forget, he also had been forced to remember.

She told herself all this, and much more; the task occupied so much of
her time that she forgot to go asleep that night, and she saw the
morning star shine out of the blue haze beyond the city, and it
belonged to a dawn with a meaning entirely its own. Never before or
after was a daybreak so beautiful. The sun wheeled royally into view
through the atmosphere of her first veritable love romance.

CHAPTER VI.

Even the card of Lieutenant McVeigh could not annoy her that morning.
He came with some message to the dowager from his mother. At any other
time the sound of his name would have made a discord for her. The
prejudices of Judithe were so decided, and so independent of all
accepted social rules, that the dowager hoped when she did choose a
husband he would prove a diplomat--they would need one in the family.

"Madame Blanc, will you receive the gentleman?" she asked. "Maman has
not yet left her room, and I am engaged."

And for the second time the American made his exit from the Caron
establishment without having seen the woman his friends raved about.
Descending the steps he remembered the old saw that a third attempt
carried a charm with it. He smiled, and the smile suggested that there
would be a third attempt.

The Marquise looked at the card he left, and her smile had not so much
that was pleasant in it.

"Maman, my conjecture was right," she remarked as she entered the room
of the dowager; "your fine, manly American was really the youth of my
Carolina story."

"Carolina story?" and the dowager looked bewildered for a moment; when
one has reached the age of eighty years the memory fails for the
things of today; only the affairs of long ago retain distinctness.

"Exactly; the man for whom Rhoda Larue was educated, and of whom you
forbade me to speak--the man who bought her from Matthew Loring, of
Loringwood, Carol