't done this thing for what I could get out of
it. I've done it--for you. Please remember that, when you're counting up
how much I've cost you on this trip. Count what I've saved you, too."

"By Jove, I'm not likely to forget _that_!" said I. "If the thing had
ended by _my_ being the fiance--it doesn't bear dwelling on. But I want
you to have the ring. I saw, all yesterday afternoon and evening, what
you were up to on my behalf, and I bought the ring on purpose to give to
you, if you pulled me through, as I half thought you would."

"It was born and bred for an engagement ring," she said. "Give it
to--the girl you're going to marry."

"I haven't asked her yet."

"You mean to, I suppose."

"I suppose so. But she may not accept me. Do you think she will?"

"If I have an opinion, I'm not going to tell you. Only--keep your ring."

So I had to keep it. And all day, while again we passed flowery Boskoop
(not so flowery now) quaint Gouda, and the other little towns which
carried me back in mind to the beginning of our trip, I wondered and
puzzled over the change in that lady of mystery, the L.C.P.

XXXIII

We slept in Rotterdam, at the old hotel in the park where the Angels
were staying when first they came into my life.

The next day was a memorable one in van Buren annals, for the new
fiancee was to be received as such, into the bosom of the family.

Robert and the twins had left us on our arrival in Rotterdam, for the
town house is still closed for the summer, and the "residence" is at
Scheveningen. It was for the brother and sisters to pave the way for
Phyllis, and solve (if they could) the mystery which must have wrapped
the unsigned telegram announcing the engagement.

In the morning, before any of us had had breakfast, back came Robert in
one of Brederode's cast-off automobiles (Alb seems to shed motor-cars
and motor-boats along the path of life, as most people shed old shoes)
bringing a note from Madame at the Villa van Buren.

What it said I shall probably never know, but Robert's too handsome face
was a shade less tranquil than usual, and I guessed that, as Nell would
say, he had had to be very Frisian before he succeeded in persuading his
still more Frisian mother that Phyllis Rivers is a desirable substitute
for Freule Menela van der Windt.

In any case, he had persuaded her--he wouldn't be the Viking that he is,
if he hadn't; and though by the shadow round his calm gray eyes, it had
probabl