rriage, her white figure and rippling hair of
daffodil gold in full moonlight.

I stood as a man might stand who sees a vision, hardly breathing. I made
no sound, yet she turned and saw me, sheltered as I was by the dappled
trunk of a tall plane-tree. It was as if I had called, and she had
answered.

I knew she remembered me, and that she did not misunderstand my presence.
There was no anger in her face, only surprise, and a light which was
hidden as she dropped her head, and passed on through the gate.

I could have sung the song of the stars. She had not forgotten me since
the afternoon. The look in my eyes then, had arrested some thought of
hers, and set me apart in her mind from other men.

It was no stupid conceit which made me feel this, but a kind of exalted
conviction.

When the gate was shut, I took off my hat and looked at the lighted
windows. I could make her care. I said to myself, "We're meant for each
other. And if that's true, though all the mountains in the world were
piled up as barriers between us, I'd cross them."

That was a vow. And through the remaining hours of the night I tried to
plan how it would be best to begin its fulfilment.

Men who have gone through a campaign as close friends, have few secrets
from one another; and I had none from Dick Waring. Nevertheless, I would
now have kept one if it were possible; but it was not. If I had not told
him, he would have guessed, and then he might have thought that he had the
right to chaff me on losing my head.

It is only a happy lover who can bear to be chaffed, however, and a few
words were enough to show my tactful American where to set his feet on the
slippery path.

He too had seen the girl; therefore he could not be surprised at my state
of mind. But he regretted it, and urged that the best I could do was to go
away, before the thought of her had taken too deep a hold upon me.

"You see," he said, "you're in a hopeless position; and it's better to
look facts in the face. If you'd fallen in love with almost any other
girl, except Princess Ena herself, you might have hoped. But as it is,
what have you to look forward to? You oughtn't to have come to Biarritz.
In the circumstances, and with the King here, it was bravado. Friends of
his, enemies of yours, might even say it was bad taste, which is worse.
And then, having come, you proceed to follow the King's motor-car; you
fall head over ears in love with a girl in it, a friend of the
br