known what to do--unless to die, and then a man comes who is kind, and
saves you from terrible things, you can't be as wise and well behaved as
at other times."

"Poor child," said the young man.

"It does me good to be called that. But you don't know my name, the name
of your new secretary. It is Julie--Julie de Lavalette. My mother is
the Comtesse de Lavalette. And you?"

"Oh, I'm plain Hugh Egerton," said the young man.

The girl laughed. "I do not think you are plain Hugh Egerton at all. But
perhaps an American girl would not tell you that? Hugh! What a nice
name. I think it is going to be my favourite name."

She glanced up at him softly, under long lashes,--a thrilling glance;
but he missed its radiance, for his own eyes were far away. Hugh had
been the favourite name of another girl.

When she saw that look of his, she rose from her chair. "I'm taking too
much of your time," she exclaimed, remorsefully. "I must go."

His eyes and thoughts came back to the wearer of pink and roses.
Perhaps there had been just a little too much softness and sweetness. It
had been wise of her to change the key, and speak of parting.

He paid for the lunch, and tipped the waiters so liberally that they all
hoped he would come again often. Then he asked if he might walk with her
to the hotel where she and her mother were staying.