elcome, I assure you.
Mr. Poynter has been pleased to inject certain elements of melodrama
into his chance intrusion. Otherwise you would not find us staring at
each other in this exceedingly ridiculous manner!"

"Hum!" said the Baron blandly and glanced with interest at the
undisturbed countenance of Mr. Poynter.

"A mere matter of justice and belated frankness to Miss Westfall!" said
Philip quietly. "I must respectfully beg Prince Ronador to disclose to
her the original motive of his singular and highly romantic courtship.
I bear an urgent message of similar import from one who has had the
distinction of playing--imperial chess!"

They were curious words but not so curious in substance as in effect.
With a cry of startled anger, Ronador leaped back, his eyes flashing
terrible menace at Philip. There was only one pair of eyes, however,
quick and keen enough, for all their loveliness, to follow his swift
movement or the glitter of steel in his hand.

With a cry of fear and horror, Diane leaped like a wild thing and
struck his hand aside. A revolver fell at her feet. Aunt Agatha
screamed and covered her eyes with her hands.

In the tense quiet came the tranquil lap of the lake, the call of a
distant bird, the lazy murmur of many leaves in a morning wind. Philip
stood very quietly by the table. He looked at Diane; he seemed to have
forgotten the others, Tregar thought.

With terrible anger in her flashing eyes, Diane flung the revolver into
the placid lake, and facing Ronador, her sweet, stern mouth
contemptuous, she met his imploring gaze with one of scathing rebuke.

"Excellency," she said to Ronador, "whatever else Mr. Poynter may have
in mind, there is surely now an explanation which it behooves you to
make as a gentleman who is not a coward!"

Ronador moistened his white lips and looked away.

Trembling violently she turned to Philip.

"Philip!" she cried. "What is it?" As her eyes met his, her hand went
to her heart and the color swept in brilliant tide from the slim brown
throat to the questioning eyes. "Oh, Philip! Philip!" She choked and
fell again to trembling. It was a cry of remorse and heart-broken
apology for the memory of a moon above the marsh.

For somehow in that instant, by a freak of instinct, the rain and the
wind of Okeechobee and the bird in the pines came into their own.
Their subtle messages dovetailed with the hurt look in Philip's
eyes--with the conviction of the girl's