only looked at him, her lips
parted, a hint of incredulousness in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said. He was glad now that she had not laughed or taken
the word he had spoken lightly. He felt she knew he had not said it in
an attempt at silly flirtation.

"You spoke of being rescued," she said, smiling again.

"Yes, and the villain is yet in the background," he said. "A devilishly
handsome villain he is, too."

She glanced back over her shoulder. The servant had disappeared. The
man in the wicker chair was looking at them, a half smile on his lips.

"Surely," she said, "not Mr. Gibson?"

"If Mr. Gibson is the gentleman in the chair over there, yes."

"And why a villain?"

"Well, he whispered something to the servant who was here when you came
that caused him to come here and ask me to leave. That was how you
rescued me."

"It is like a book or a play, isn't it?"

"Only in books and plays dreams come true," he told her. "And villains
are vanquished."

"And what dream do you wish to come true?"

"A dream--a rather silly, hopeless, golden sort of dream--a dream of
meeting you again."

Once more he could have bitten off his tongue. Now she would think him a
maudlin flirt. He looked to the ground and saw his dusty, worn shoes. He
was afraid to hear her speak, afraid to look up. At last he did,
expecting to find her gone. But she was there, looking at him as she had
when he told her she was beautiful, the same hint of incredulousness in
her eyes.

"Don't say you're sorry," she said softly. "I'd like to think you meant
it."

They were silent. He saw the man in the wicker chair rise, toss aside
his cigarette and come toward them, slowly. They waited, without
speaking, until he reached their table.

His eyes met Gibson's steadily for two tense seconds. Then he saw Gibson
turn from him to the girl as if he was not there.

"Consuello," Gibson said.

She rose.

"Reggie," she said, "a friend, Mr.----"

"John Gallant," John said, slowly.

"Mr. Gallant, Mr. Gibson," she said. They shook hands.

"I believe I saw Mr. Gallant several nights ago," Gibson said.

John waited, wondering how Gibson would say it.

"He was very busily engaged with another gentleman"--he gave a slight
emphasis to the "gentleman"--"whose name, I believe, was Rodriguez."

"Really! You have met before?"

"Come, Consuello," said Gibson, "we must be trotting back to the house.
The afternoon will be gone soon."

She saw the look in Jo