ve that house up there will
suit. We'll have some luncheon and then drive up for you to see it. I
like the place, myself. It opens well."

It opened well, if the happiness of Elvira Paredes was a good augury.

"All the rest is from my father," Flavia said, in parting from her. "But
take this from me, to wear or for a marriage portion, as you choose."

The gift was a sapphire ring slipped from Flavia's slim finger.

"It resembles the eyes of the senorita; may they always be as bright and
clear," fervently returned Elvira, who was an Andalusian and therefore a
poet.

"That cost some money, when I bought it," Mr. Rose practically observed,
from his seat in the motor-car. "Tell her not to flash it in New York,
alone, if she wants to keep it. You can put that into classic Spanish
for me, my girl."

That was the beginning of an interlude whose placid monotony was
tempered by much equally placid incident. The Americans liked the
village, and the village rejoiced in the Americans, so that they came to
know each other very well. More than once Flavia thought of the legend
of Al-Mansor, and that if one of these days could be deemed happy enough
to record by a pearl, the vase could be filled with the gem-chronicles,
so much alike were the weeks.

For the white castle on the hill kept its visitors, and so it happened
that the summer most crowded and busy of any Corrie ever had known,
slipped drowsily by in drowsy Val de Rosas for the two most interested
in him.

He never told Flavia what he was doing. The new Corrie Rose was more
considerate than the self-centred thoughtlessness of youth had permitted
the boy Corrie to be. He would have remembered her anxiety for his
safety and dread of danger for him, of himself, but his silence was
further impelled by Gerard, who had pointed out--in a few brief
sentences that avoided Flavia's name--the responsibility she must feel
in keeping such a secret from her father. But, because it was so
difficult to write to his "Other Fellow" without telling her all,
Corrie's letters came with greater intervals and were less in length.

"I am still touring with Gerard," he wrote to Flavia, in the last note
of his that came to Val de Rosas. "Don't mind if my letters come slower,
please; I am pretty busy. I guess you will understand what it means to
me when I can say that I am doing some work for Gerard and that he calls
it good. I wish it cost me more to do. I hope father is well; you didn't
sa