As may easily be imagined I had seen quite enough of Olive Berdenstein for one day at any rate, if not for a long time to come. But to my surprise, on that same afternoon, as I sat in our little drawing room pretending to read a stupid novel, there was a timid ring at the bell, and she was shown into the room. She entered nervously, as though uncertain as to how I should receive her. I daresay she would not have been at all surprised if I had ordered her out again. If I had followed my first impulse I should certainly have done so. Wiser counsels prevailed, however, and although I did not offer her my hand, I suppressed my surprise at her coming, and motioned her to take a seat. She was dressed much more quietly than I had yet seen her, in a plain brown dress, beautifully made. The element of incongruity was still there, however, for she wore a large Paris hat, and the little lace scarf at her throat was fastened with a great diamond. She sat quite still, and I could see that she was very nervous. She kept her eyes away from my face as much as possible. When she began to talk she did so rapidly, and in a low tone. “I suppose you are very surprised to see me, Miss Ffolliot, after this morning,” she commenced, tentatively. “Rather,” I answered. “I only made up my mind to come an hour ago. It was a sudden impulse. I started at once, or I should have changed my mind. I have come to make you an offer. It will sound very oddly to you, but you must not be angry. You must hear all that I have to say. I have thought it all out; it is very reasonable.” “You need not be afraid,” I answered. “I shall certainly not mind listening--so long as you do not talk as you were talking this morning. I am quite willing to forget that if you do not remind me of it.” She fixed her black eyes upon me intently. “Miss Ffolliot, have you ever loved any one--a man, I mean?” I could not help starting, the question was so unexpected. She was watching me very keenly. Perhaps my color was not altogether steady. “I don’t think so--not in the way you mean,” I answered. “I will make it clear. I do love some one. I did not think that you would, you are too cold, you look too proud. Now I want to tell you. There is some one whom I love desperately--with my whole life. I want to tell you about it. Do you mind?” “Certainly not,” I answered, softly. The change in her was wonderful. Her eyes were as soft as velvet; there was a faint flush in her cheeks. But for those prominent teeth and the sharp outlines of her features she was almost beautiful. “You remember, I have told you of our accident in Switzerland, and of Mr. Deville, and how gloriously he saved us. Oh, it was wonderful! Even now when I think of it I feel excited.” I bowed my head slowly. I began to understand.