"I don't mean that. You know I want to see you--for old times' sake."

"I shall go, nevertheless, if you merely hint that I am unwelcome."
She arose and suddenly gave him her hand.

"You are not unwelcome, and you are foolish to speak in that
manner," she said, seriously.

"And your mother?"

"She must endure what I endure."

"Somewhere Baedeker says that the Bois de la Cambre is the finest
park in Brussels," said he, his eyes gleaming.

"I am quite sure Baedeker is reliable," she agreed, with a smile.

"At three o'clock to-morrow afternoon, then, I will come for you.
Will you remember me to your mother and tell her I am sorry not to
see her to-day? Good-bye!"

She followed him to the door, and when he sped lightly down the
steps there was a broad smile on the face of each. He turned and
both laughed outright. "Where there's a will, there's a way," she
mused, as she went to her room upstairs. An hour later her daily
letter to the prince was ready for the post. The only allusion to
the visitor of the morning was: "Mr. Quentin--our New York friend,
you will remember--made us a brief call this morning. He is quite
undecided as to the length of his stay here, but I hope you will be
here to see him."