tempted him.

Her veil fluttered out behind her on the breeze, like a signal of
no-surrender, and once--only once--she looked back over her shoulder.
She was too far ahead for him to catch the glint of her eye, but he
heard the echo of that laugh--that voice--and it spurred him on and on.

Suddenly, by some turn known only to herself, she eluded him and escaped
beyond his vision--and beyond his reach. He halted his panting horse at
the crossing of several streets, and swore again. But though he looked
searchingly in every possible direction, there was no trace of the
fugitive to be seen. It was as though the earth had opened and
swallowed horse and rider in one greedy gulp.

Baffled and more disappointed than he cared to own, Paul rode slowly
back to Berkeley Square, his heart bounding with the excitement of the
chase and yet thoroughly vexed over his failure, at himself, his horse,
the girl.

At the house he found letters from the Regent awaiting him, recalling to
him his position and its unwelcome responsibilities. One of them
enclosed a full-length photograph of his future bride.

Fate had certainly been kind to him by granting his one expressed wish.
The Princess Elodie was what he had desired, "quite six-foot tall." Yet
he pushed the portrait aside with an impatient gesture, and before his
mental vision rose a little figure tripping up the steps, with a
backward glance that still seemed to pierce his very soul.

He was not thinking, as he certainly should have been, of the Princess