joined them. He looked hardly over twenty-five, his wavy black hair
giving him a picturesque look. He wore no beard, and his dark skin
was as clear as a girl's.

"By the way," said Quentin, "Lady Saxondale tells me you are to
marry a former acquaintance of mine."

"Miss Garrison is an acquaintance?" cried the prince, lifting his
dark eyes. An instant later his gaze roamed away into the horde of
passing women, as if searching for the woman whose name brought
light to his soul.

"Was an acquaintance, I think I said. I doubt if she remembers me
now. She was a child when I knew her. Is she here this morning?"
asked Phil, secretly amused by the anxious look in the Italian's
eyes.

"She will be with Lady Marnham, Ah, I see them now." The young
prince was looking eagerly ahead.

Quentin saw Miss Garrison and gasped with astonishment. Could that
stunning young woman be the little Dorothy of New York days? He
could scarcely believe his eyes and ears, notwithstanding the
introductions which followed.

"And here is an old New York friend. Miss Garrison, Mr. Philip
Quentin. You surely remember him, Miss Garrison," said Lady Frances,
with a peculiar gleam in her eye. For a second the young lady at
Quentin's side exhibited surprise; a faint flush swept into her
cheek, and then, with a rare smile, she extended her hand to the