"Had I known I was to have the honor of this visit, I should certainly have had it moved." "There is no use being sarcastic," the girl said, almost crying now. "It hurts very much, and--and--I want to go home." Mr. Arranstoun pushed a comfortable monster seat toward her, and said more sympathetically: "I am very sorry--but where is home?" The girl sank into the chair, and smoothed out her pink cotton frock; the skimpy skirt (not as narrow as in these days, but still short and spare!) showed a perfect pair of feet and ankles. "She's American, of course, then," Michael said to himself, observing these, "and quite pretty if that smudge of grime was off her face." She was looking at him now with her large, innocent eyes, which contained no shadow of _gene_ over the unusual situation, and then she answered quite simply: "I haven't a home, you know--I'm just staying at the Inn with Uncle Mortimer and Aunt Jemima and--and--Mr. Greenbank--and we are tourists, I suppose, and were looking at the pictures--when--when I had to run away." Michael felt a little piqued with curiosity; she was a diversion after his perplexing, irritating meditations. "It would be so interesting to hear why you ran away--the whole story?" he suggested. The girl turned her head and looked out of the window, showing a dear little baby profile, and masses of light brown hair rolled up anyhow at the back. She did not look older than seventeen at the outside, and was peculiarly childish and slender for that. "But I should have to tell you from the beginning, and it is so long--and you are a stranger." Michael drew another chair nearer to her, and sat down, while his manner took on a note of grave, elderly concern, which rather belied the twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "Never mind that--I am sympathetic, and I am your host--and, by Jove!--won't you have some tea! You look awfully tired and--dusty," and he rang the bell, and then reseated himself. "See, to be quite orthodox, we will make our own introduction--I am Michael Arranstoun--and you are----?" The girl rose and made him a polite bow. "I am Sabine Delburg," she announced. He bowed also--and then she went into a peal of silvery laughter that seemed to contain all the glad notes of spring and youth. "Oh, this is fun! and I--I should like some tea!" She caught sight of herself in an old mirror, which stood upon a commode. "Goodness, what a guy I look! Why didn't you tell me that my hat was crooked!" She settled it straight, and began searching for a handkerchief up her sleeve and in her belt, but none was to be found. So Mr. Arranstoun handed her a clean one he chanced to have in his pocket. "I expect you want to wipe the smudge of dirt off your face," he hazarded. She took it laughing, and showing an even row of beautiful teeth between red, full baby lips.