"I have," he acknowledged, "too much of one to take advantage of your invitation. Some day, when you are not tired from the crowds, I shall come, if you will allow me." "No, no; come now!" insisted the Countess, impulsively; "you will rest me; I assure you it is true! We have been with women--women all morning! So take pity on us. We want to hear all about the battle grounds and fortresses you were to inspect. The Marquise, especially, is a lover of wars." "And of warriors?" queried Dumaresque; but the Countess paid no attention to him. "Yes, she is really a revolutionist, Monsieur; so come and enlighten us as to the latest methods of those amiable patriots." The Marquise had given him a gracious little bow, and had politely shown interest in their remarks to such an extent that the Countess did not notice her silence. But during the brief glance she noticed that the blue eyes had dark circles under them, but they were steady for all that. He looked tired, but he also looked more the master of himself than when they last met; she need fear no further pleading. The Countess prevailed, and he entered the carriage. Dumaresque was also invited, but was on some committee of arrangements and could not leave. As they were about to drive away the Marquise called him. "Oh, Monsieur Loris, one moment! I want the black and white sketch of your Kora. Pray have it bid in for me." It was the first time she had ever called him Loris, except in her own home, and as a partial echo of the dowager. His eyes thanked her, and Kenneth McVeigh received the benefit both of her words and the look. "But, my dear Marquise, it will give me pleasure to make you something finer of the same subject." "No, no; only the sketch. I will value it as a souvenir of--well--do not let any one else have it." Then she bowed, flashed a rare smile at him, and they wheeled away with McVeigh facing her and noting with his careless smile every expression of her coquetry. He had gone away a boy--so she had called him; but he had come back man enough to hide the hurts she gave him, and willing to let her know it. Someway he appeared more as he had when she met him first under the beeches; then he had seemed so big, so strong, so masterful, that she had never thought of his years. But she knew now he was younger than he looked. She had plenty of time to think of this, and of many other things, during the drive. The Countess monopolized the young officer with her questions. He endeavored to make the replies she invited, and neither of them appeared to note that the share of the Marquise was limited to an interested expression, and an occasional smile.