he could bear the uncertainty no longer.

"And for dinner?" he said. "Won't you dine me, my Princess? Let me be
your host, as you have been mine all to-day."

But a stiffness seemed to fall upon her suddenly--she appeared to have
become a stranger again almost.

"Thank you, no. I cannot dine," she said. "I must write letters--and
go to sleep."

Paul felt an ice-hand clutching his heart. His face became so blank as
to almost pale before her eyes.

She leant forward, and smiled. "Will you be lonely, Paul? Then at ten
o'clock you must come under the ivy and wish me good-night."

And this was all he could gain from her. She landed him to walk back
to the hotel at the same place from which they had embarked, and the
launch struck out again into the lake.

He walked fast, just to be near enough to see her step ashore on to
the hotel wharf, but he could not arrive in time, and her grey figure
disappearing up the terrace steps was all his hungry eyes were
vouchsafed.

The weariness of dinner! What did it matter what the food was? What
did it matter that a new family of quite nice English people had
arrived, and sat near? A fresh young girl and a youth, and a father
and mother. People who would certainly play billiards and probably