Perhaps, if he did this, he might forget the experience that was, after all, only an episode in a man’s life and—­other men forget!  He might learn to be calmly happy and contented with his Princess.  It was only natural for a young man to make love to a pretty girl, he thought, and why should he be any exception?  He had taken the good the gods provided, as any live man would—­now he could go his way, as other men did, and—­forget!  Why not?  And yet the mere thought of it cast such a gloom over his spirits that he knew in his heart his philosophic attempt to deceive himself was futile and vain.  He might run away, of course—­though it was hardly like him to do that—­but he would scarcely be able to forget.

And then Verdayne joined him with an open note in his hand—­a formal invitation from Gilbert Ledoux for them to dine with him in his Fifth Avenue house on the following evening.  He wished his family to meet the friends who had so pleasantly attracted himself and his daughter on shipboard.

Was it strange how speedily the Boy’s resolutions vanished?  Run away!  Not he!

“Accept the invitation, Father Paul, by all means!”

* * * * *

It was a cordial party in which Paul Verdayne and his young companion found themselves on the following evening—­a simple family gathering, graciously presided over by Opal’s stepmother.

Gilbert Ledoux’s wife was one of those fashion-plate women who strike one as too artificial to be considered as more than half human.  You wonder if they have also a false set of emotions to replace those they wore out in their youth—­c’est a dire if they ever had any!  Paul smiled at the thought that Mr. Ledoux need have no anxiety over the virtue of his second wife—­whatever merry dance the first might have led him!

Opal was not present when the gentlemen were announced, and the bevy of aunts and uncles and cousins were expressing much impatience for her presence—­which Paul Zalenska echoed fervently in his heart.  It was truly pleasant—­this warm blood-interest of kinship.  He liked the American clannishness, and he sighed to think of the utter lack of family affection in his own life.

The drawing-room, where they were received, was furnished in good taste, the Boy thought.  The French touch was very prominent—­the blend of color seemed to speak to him of Opal.  Yes, he liked the room.  The effect grew on one with the charm of the real home atmosphere that a dwelling place should have.  But he wasn’t so much interested in that, after all!  In fact, it was rather unsatisfactory—­without Opal!  These people were her people and, of course, of more than ordinary interest to him on her account, but still—­

And at last, when the Boy was beginning to acknowledge himself slightly bored, and to resent the familiar footing on which he could see the Count de Roannes already stood in the family circle, Opal entered, and the gloomy, wearisome atmosphere seemed suddenly flooded with sunlight.