"That's my hour for tea--just my hour," he said, blithely. She could
not repress the smile that his old willfulness brought to her lips
and eyes. "Thank you, for the smile. It was worth struggling for."

He was gone before she could respond, but the smile lingered as her
eyes followed his tall figure across the room. She saw him pause and
speak to Prince Ugo, and then pass out with Lady Saxondale. Only
Lady Saxondale observed the dark gleam in the Italian's eyes as he
responded to the big American's unconventional greeting. On the way
home she found herself wondering if Dorothy had ever spoken to the
prince of Philip Quentin and those tender, foolish days of girlhood.

"Has she lost any of the charm?" she asked.

"I am not quite sure. I'm to find out on Friday."

"Are you going back on Friday?" in surprise.

"To drink tea, you know."

"Did she ask you to come?"

"Can't remember, but I think I suggested it."

"Be careful, Phil; I don't want you to turn Dorothy Garrison's
head."

"You compliment me by even suspecting that I could. Her head is set;
it can't be turned. It is set for that beautiful, bejewelled thing
they call a coronet. Besides, I don't want to turn it."