Presently a color, faint and fugitive,
dimmed the whiteness of her cheeks. Maurice, conscious of his rudeness
and of a warmth in his own cheeks, instinctively lowered his gaze.

"Pardon my rudeness," he said.

"What is your name, Monsieur," she asked calmly.

"It is Maurice Carewe. I am living in Vienna. I came to Bleiberg for
pleasure, but the first day has not been propitious," with an apologetic
glance at his dripping clothes.

"Maurice Carewe," slowly repeating the full name as if to imprint it on
her memory. "You are English?"

He said: "No; I am one of those dreadful Yankees you have possibly read
about."

Her teeth gleamed. "Yes, I have heard of them. But you do not appear so
very dreadful; though at present you are truly not at your best. What is
this--this Yankeeland like?"

"It would take me ever so long to tell you about it, it is such a great
country."

"You are a patriot!" clapping her hands. "No other country is so
fine and large and great as your own. But tell me, is it as large as
Austria?"

"Austria? You will not be offended if I tell you?"

"No."

"Well," with fun in his eyes, "it is my opinion that I could hide
Austria in my country so thoroughly that nobody would ever be able to
find it again." He wondered how she would accept this statement.

She lifted her chin and laughed, and the bulldog wagged his tail, as
he always did when mirth touched her. He jumped up beside Maurice and
looked into his face. Maurice patted his broad head, and he submitted.
The girl looked rather surprised.

"Are you a magician?" she asked.

"Why?"

"Bull never makes friends."

"But I do," said Maurice; "perhaps he understands that, and comes
half-way. But it is rather strange to see a bulldog in this part of the
country."

"He was given to me, years ago, by an Englishman."

"That accounts for it." He was experiencing a deal of cold, but he dared
not mention it. "And may I ask your name?"

"Ah, Monsieur," shyly, "to tell you my name would be to frighten you
away."

"I am sure nothing could do that," he declared earnestly. Had he been
thinking of aught but her eyes he might have caught the significance of
her words. But, then, the cold was numbing.

She surveyed him with critical eyes. She saw a clean-shaven face, brown,
handsome and eager, merry blue eyes, a chin firm and aggressive, a
mischievous mouth, a forehead which showed the man of thought, a slim
athletic form which showed the man of ac