The girl's first emotion was of joy. The thought of seeing Stone again, eclipsed all other thoughts. "Oh, Mrs. Mac!" she cried, clasping that somewhat rotund matron round the waist and leading her an enforced dance. "Mr. Stone is coming! Will be here for tea! Oh, I _am_ so glad!" But her second thoughts were more disturbing. _Why_ was he coming? What were his suspicions? Could he be tracking her down? Though Fleming Stone had never said a word of love to her, Pauline knew, by her own heart's 'detective instinct,' that he _cared_. But, his sense of duty might make it necessary to follow where the trail of suspicion led, even at cost of his own affections. Then, too, could he suspect?--But Pauline's irrepressible joy at thought of seeing him left her little time or wish to indulge in gloomy forebodings. Singing, she ran off to dress for Stone's reception. "Which is prettier?" she asked of Mrs. Mac, holding up an embroidered white crêpe, of Cairo construction, and a black net gown, brought from New York. "Wear the white, Miss Stuart. It's most becoming to you." It was, and when arrayed in the lovely, soft, clinging affair, with a cluster of tiny white rose-buds at her belt, Pauline's unusually pink cheeks and her scarlet flower of a mouth gave all the color necessary. Her beautiful hair, piled in a crown atop her little head, was held by a carved ivory comb, and beneath their half-drooped lashes her great eyes shone like stars. For the Terrace, she donned a large white hat, with black ostrich plumes, and flinging a white cape edged with black fur over her arm, she descended to meet her guest. Though little given to emotional demonstration, Fleming Stone caught his breath with a quick gasp at sight of her, and advanced with outstretched hands and a smile of a sort no one had ever before seen on that always calm face. "How do you do?" she said, smiling; for, though thrilled herself, she remembered the unfailing curiosity of the Terrace crowds. But Stone, having taken her two hands in his, stood looking at her as if he intended to pursue that occupation for the rest of his natural life. "Sit down," she said, laughing a little nervously under his gaze; "this is our table. Will you have tea?" "Tea, of course," and at last Fleming Stone took himself in hand and behaved like a reasonable citizen. "And how are you? And your cousin, where is he?" "Mr. Loria is out of Cairo just now," and Pauline turned to give the waiter his order. "But we are three, as I am under most strict surveillance--" she paused, realizing what that phrase meant to a detective! "Of a perfect dragon of a chaperon," she continued bravely, trying to control her quivering lip. "Here she comes now."