ey.

'Ah! so I have lost my way after all,' said this personage in a bland
voice. 'A mistake! But I hope you will accord me your forgiveness,
mademoiselle?'

Rallywood sprang to his feet at this most unexpected ending and looked
round.

Close beside him stood a tall girl wrapped in a long cloak of fur and
amber velvet. She was singularly beautiful, with a pale, clear-hued
beauty. Her black, long-lashed eyes were on him and they were full of
laughter.

'Enter, then, Baron,' said the girl, glancing across at the courtier.
'Did you guess you would find me here, or were you seeking monsieur?'
and she waved her bare left hand towards Rallywood.

'I lost my way, nothing more,' returned the Baron, coming forward; 'but
perhaps, as in my heart, all roads lead towards----' He bowed deeply
once more, this time stooping to kiss the girl's hand with a certain
show of restrained eagerness.

She drew back with a little impatient gesture.

'I should not have been here, but for an accident,' she replied coldly.
'In fact I was on the point of starting for his Highness's reception,
had not monsieur detained me.' And, to Rallywood's amazement, she
indicated himself.

Before he could speak she pointed to his spurred boot.

'Monsieur has set his heel on my poor glove,' she added.

By his hasty movement in rising he had apparently dislodged the glove
from its position on the edge of the couch. He stooped with a hurried
word of apology and picked it up. On the delicate palm was stamped the
curved stain of his boot-heel.

'Do you always treat a lady's glove so?' she asked gravely, and held out
her hand for it.

Rallywood looked down at her very deliberately, and something that was
neither his will nor his reason decided the next action. He folded the
soft _suede_ reverently together.

'No, mademoiselle,' he answered, as he placed it inside his tunic, 'I
have never before treated a lady's glove--so. For the accident, I offer
my deepest apologies.'

She watched him with raised eyebrows and a slight derisive smile. Then
she drew the companion glove from her right hand, and giving it to the
lackey, who still remained in the background, she said--

'Throw it away, it is useless, and tell Nanzelle to bring me another
pair.'

'Monsieur, with whom I have not yet the pleasure of being acquainted,'
interrupted the Baron rather suddenly, 'monsieur is after all the lucky
man. He retains what I dare not even ask for.'

'Shall I call