yself.
"What _shall_ I do?"

Out of one corner of my eye I saw that they did speak of me, and she
threw a quick, eager glance in my direction. A minute or two later they
all strolled on together, until they had come in front of our seat.
There Mrs. Senter paused, and said, "Sir Lionel, these are my friends,
Mr. and Mrs. Tyndal, of whom I think I must have spoken to you, and this
is their cousin, Mr. Tom Tyndal. They are touring in their motor, and
arrived here this afternoon, a little before us. Quite a coincidence,
isn't it?" And then, as if on second thoughts, she added me to the
introduction.

"Quite a coincidence," indeed! It never rains, but it pours
coincidences, on any head that is developing a criminal record.

The Tyndals paid Sir Lionel compliments, and seemed to be delighted to
meet him, evidently regarding him as a great celebrity, which, I
suppose, he really is. Then, when they had made him sufficiently
uncomfortable (compliments are to him what a sudden plague of locusts
would be to most men), they turned to me.

"Surely we have met before, Miss Lethbridge?" remarked Mrs. Tyndal. And
you ought to have seen how Mrs. Senter's features sharpened, as she
waited for me to stammer or blush.

As far as the blush was concerned, she had her money's worth; and I only
didn't stammer because I was obliged to stop and think before replying.
I almost worshipped Sir Lionel when he answered for me, in a quick,
positive way he has, which there seems no gainsaying. I suppose men who
live in the East cultivate that, as it keeps natives from arguing and
answering back.

"Impossible," said he, "unless it was at Versailles, where my ward has
been at school since she was a very small child, with no holidays except
at St. Cloud."

"Mightn't it have been at Paris?" obligingly suggested Mrs. Senter,
determined I shouldn't be let off, if conviction of any sort were
possible.

"No, I don't think it was at Paris," murmured Mrs. Tyndal, reflectively,
eyeing me in the sunset light, which was turning to pure amethyst. "Now,
where _could_ it have been? I seem to associate your face with--with
Italy."

Oh, my goodness! She _was_ getting "warm" in our game of "hide the
handkerchief."

"She has never been to Italy," said Sir Lionel, beginning to look rather
cross, as if Mrs. Tyndal were taking liberties with his belongings--of
which, you see, he thinks me one.

"Not even--Venice?" she persisted. "Oh, yes, _that_ is it! Now I