uis! Louis! I wonder if she can really ever care for me!--she was so
good--so sweet to me.... And Mrs. Collis took me away to her own
room--after your father had shaken hands with me--very stiffly but I
think kindly--and I behaved very badly, dear--and your sister let me
cry--all that I needed to."

She said nothing more for a while, resting in his arms, dark eyes fixed
on space. Then:

"They asked me to remain; your brother-in-law is a dear!--but I still
had a long day of self-examination before me. Your father and mother
walked with me to the gate. Your mother kissed me."

His eyes, blinded by tears, scarcely saw her; and she turned her head
and smiled at him.

"What they said to me was _very_ sweet and patient, Louis.... I
believe--I sometimes believe that I may, in time, win more than their
consent, I believe that, some day, they will care to think of me as your
wife--and think of me as such, kindly, without regret for what might
have been if I had never known you."

CHAPTER XVIII

Helene d'Enver had gone back to the country, and Ogilvy dared not pursue
her thither.

From her fastness at Estwich she defied him in letters, but every letter
of hers seemed to leave some loophole open for further argument, and
Ogilvy replied valiantly from a perfectly safe distance, vowing that he
meant to marry her some day in spite of herself and threatening to go up
and tell her so to her face, until she became bored to death waiting for
him to fulfil this threat.

"There's a perfectly good inn here," she wrote,--"for of course, under
the circumstances, you would scarcely have the impudence to expect the
hospitality of my own roof. But if you are determined to have a final
'No' for your answer, I am entirely competent to give it to you by word
of mouth--"

"And such a distractingly lovely mouth," sighed Ogilvy, perusing the
letter in his studio. He whistled a slow waltz, thoughtfully, and as
slowly and solemnly kept step to it, turning round and round, buried in
deepest reflection. He had a habit of doing this when profoundly
perplexed.

Annan discovered him waltzing mournfully all by himself:

"What's up?" he inquired cheerfully.

"It's all up, I suppose."

"With you and your countess?"

"Yes, Harry."

"Rot! Why don't you go and talk to her?"

"Because if I remain invisible she might possibly forget my face. I
stand a better chance by letter, Harry."

"Now you're not bad-looking," insisted Annan, kind