Except Anthony Blake! Gracious Peter, could it be Anthony? There came to Justin, suddenly, a vision of Bettina in the shadowy room. Of her childish dependence upon the doctor, of her little claims of intimacy, her evident preference for the older man's society, her vehement denial the night of the dinner that there could be anything but friendship between Anthony and Diana. Putting, thus, two and two together, he decided that Bettina believed herself in love with Anthony. Yes, that was it--and Anthony--well, for Anthony there was just Diana! There you had it, and the only way to save Bettina and, incidentally, himself from heartbreak was to take things into his own hands, and play Prince to this exquisite Cinderella. Unconsciously his mind assumed a sort of King Cophetua attitude toward the charming Beggar Maid. He found himself humming: "In robe and crown the king stept down, To meet and greet her on her way----" Justin knocked the ashes out of his pipe and put it in his pocket. There was no time like the present, and he at once went toward Diana's, "clothed all in leather," like the old man in the nursery rhyme. He found Bettina in the garden. She wore a strong little suit of blue serge with a crimson silk scarf knotted under her sailor collar. On her fair head was a shady hat. She stood by the stone wall looking expectantly down the road. But it was not Justin whom she expected, although she smiled at him, and gave him her hand. "Did you meet Miss Matthews?" she inquired. "Miss Matthews?" "You know. You met her the first time you saw me." "I can only remember that time that I met--you." She laughed. "How nicely you say it." "But you do not take me seriously." "Does anybody take you seriously?" "Kind people do." "And I'm not kind?" "Not to me--you just give me remnants and fragments of your time. I have hardly seen you for three days." "Nobody has seen me," she informed him. "I've been doing all sorts of stunts in the shops. I was in town yesterday with Mrs. Martens, and you should see my hats----" "I'd rather see your hair. Do you know how lovely it is with the sunshine on it----" "Silly--wait till you see my dream of a picture hat--with yellow roses--to be worn with a shadow lace robe over a primrose slip." "White and gold--Sophie was foxy to choose that," he said. "Foxy--why?" "Oh, the pinks and blues don't suit you. You need the unusual tints. That amethyst frock you had on the other night fitted in with the twilight, and the old garden and the lilacs; and in the yellow and white you'll be a primrose, flashing in the sun." "Mrs. Martens has the most wonderful taste," she informed him. "There's a tea-gown of white crape with a little lace wrap--I don't know when I'll wear it, but Mrs. Martens insisted--and a new gown for the yacht club dance to-morrow night,--and you should see my shoes--five pairs of them." "Such richness!" He smiled into her eager eyes. "Did Diana help you choose?"