"Have been--and _am_," he bowed. "I'm not different from the
rest--only--"

She curled herself on a divan, and languidly stretched her slender
rounded arms behind the raven hair.

"Only what, Marston?" she murmured.

"Only I know when the game is beyond me."

"So, to you, I'm a game?"

"Of an impossible sort," he replied. "I admire at a distance--and keep
my head."

"And your heart, too, _mon ami_?"

"My heart is the servant of my head. When it ceases so to be, I shall
ask to be detached from the Paris station."

"Are you satisfied with your present assignment?"

"Much more than satisfied; very much more than satisfied."

She held out her hand to him, and smiled ravishingly.

"We understand each other now, Marston," she said simply; which tied
Marston only the tighter to her--as she well knew. And Marston knew it,
too. Also he knew that he had not the shade of a chance with her--and
that she knew that he knew it. It was Madeline Spencer's experience with