, how do you do, Mr. Hill?" said Lady Claire, as clear as a
bell. "It's _such_ a nice day, isn't it?" she added, a little
breathlessly, as she went by.

"It's much better than it was," said Billy, and he turned back to
open the door for her.

"Claire!" said Miss Falconer from within.

"Coming, dear," said Lady Claire, and with a little smile of defiant
friendliness at the young American she was gone.

But the memory of that plucky little smile stayed right with Billy.
The girl liked him, she liked him in spite of his unknown
antecedents, his preposterous picture, his conspicuous companion.
She had a mind of her own, that tall English girl with the lovely
eyes and the proud mouth. In a warm surge of friendliness his
thoughts went out to her, and he wished vaguely that he could let
her know how fine he thought she was.

Within an hour that vague wish came true. He had packed Fritzi off,
with a newly acquired maid, for a drive up and down the safe public
streets and he had re-interviewed the one-eyed man and the native
chauffeur that the one-eyed man introduced for the evening's work,
and he was at one of the public desks in the writing room, inditing
a letter to his aunt, which, he whimsically appreciated, might be
his last mortal composition, and reflecting thankfully that it was
highly unnecessary to make a will, when Lady Claire strolled into
the room and over to a desk.

She tried a pen frowningly, and Billy jumped to offer another. "Oh,
thank you," she said. She seemed not to have seen him before.

"That was rather nice of you, you know," he said gravely.

She looked up at him.

"I'm not really a wolf," he continued, the gravity surrendering to
his likable, warm smile, "and I'm glad you recognized it."

Her reply took him unawares. "I think you're _splendid_," said Lady
Claire. "I thought so in the bazaars when you came to my help and
stood up to that _beastly_ German."

"Oh, he wasn't such a beastly German, after all," Billy deprecated.
"And here I've had a message to you from him and never remembered to
give it. The fellow called on me the next morning in gala attire and
offered every apology and satisfaction in his power--even the
satisfaction of the duel, if I desired it. I didn't. But I promised
to express his deep apologies to you. He was horribly shocked at
himself. He'd been drinking, he said, to forget a 'sadness' which
possessed him. His lady love had failed to keep her tryst and life
was ver