“They traveled for three years before Mrs. Garrison could make up her mind to settle down in Brussels. I believe she said it reminded her of Paris, only it was a little more so,” said Lord Bob. “We met them in Paris five years ago, on our wedding trip, and she was undecided until I told her she might take a house near the king's palace in Brussels, such as it is, and off she flew to be as close to the crown as possible. She struck me as a gory old party who couldn't live comfortably unless she were dabbling in blue blood. The girl was charming, though.” “She's in London now,” ventured Sir James. “The papers say she came especially to see the boat races, but there is a pretty well established belief that she came because the prince is here. Despite their millions, I understand it is a love match.” “I hope I may have a look at her while I'm here, just to see what time has done for her,” said Quentin. “You may have the chance to ask if she remembers you,” said Dickey. “And if she thinks you've grown older,” added Lord Bob. “Will you tell her you are not married?” demanded Lady Jane. “I'll do but one thing, judging from the way you describe the goddess. Just stand with open mouth and marvel at her magnificence. Somewhere among my traps I have a picture of her when she was fourteen, taken with me one afternoon at a tin-typer's. If I can find it, I'll show it to her, just to prove that we both lived ten years ago. She's doubtless lived so much since I saw her last that she'll deny an existence so far back as that.” “You won't be so deuced sarcastic when you see her, even if she is to marry a prince. I tell you, Phil, she is something worth looking at forever,” said Lord Bob. “I never saw such eyes, such a complexion, such hair, such a carriage,” cried Lady Frances. “Has she any teeth?” asked Dickey, and was properly frowned upon by Lady Jane. “You describe her as completely in that sentence, Lady Frances, as a novelist could in eight pages,” said Quentin. “No novelist could describe her,” was the answer. “It's to be hoped no novelist may attempt it,” said Quentin. “She is beautiful beyond description, she will be a princess, and she knew me when I didn't know enough to appreciate her. Her eyes were blue in the old days, and her hair was almost black. Colors still obtain? Then we have her description in advance. Now, let's go on with the romance.” V. A SUNDAY ENCOUNTER It was a sunny Sunday morning and the church parade was popular. Lady Frances and Quentin were walking together when Prince Ugo joined them. He looked hardly over twenty-five, his wavy black hair giving him a picturesque look. He wore no beard, and his dark skin was as clear as a girl's. “By the way,” said Quentin, “Lady Saxondale tells me you are to marry a former acquaintance of mine.”