"I think the prince could become very jealous," she went on,
earnestly.

"Which would mean stilettos for two, I presume." After a moment's
contemplative silence he said: "By Jove! she is beautiful, though."

Quentin was always the man to rush headlong into the very thickest
of whatever won his interest, whether it was the tender encounter of
the drawing-room or the dangerous conflict of the field.

When he left Lady Marnham's house late on Friday afternoon he was
more delighted than ever with the girl he had once loved. He was
with her for nearly an hour before the prince arrived, and he had
boldly dashed into the (he called them ridiculous) days when she had
been his little sweetheart, the days when both had sworn with young
fervor to be true till death. She did not take kindly at first to
these references to that early, mistaken affection, but his
persistence won. Before the prince arrived, the American had learned
how she met him, how he had wooed and won, and how she had inspired
jealousy in his hot Italian heart by speaking of the "big, handsome
boy" over in New York.

He secured her permission to join her in the Row on Tuesday. There
was resistance on her part at first, but he laughed it off.

"You should ask me to your wedding," he said, as the prince came in.

"But you will not be here."