“He comes by it honestly.  I can imagine his father doing the same thing under similar circumstances.”

“What!  This rot about democracy!  This light tossing away of an honest title, a respectable fortune!  My dear sir, there is such a thing as carrying democracy too far!”

“I suppose there is; but he’s of age; he’s a grown man.  I don’t see what you’re going to do about it.”

“Neither do I!  But think what he’s putting aside.  The boy’s clever—­he has courage and brains, as we know; he could have position—­the home government is under immense obligations to him.  A word from me to Vienna and his services to the crown would be acknowledged in the most generous fashion.  And with his father’s memory and reputation behind him—­”

“But the idea of reward doesn’t appeal to him.  We canvassed that last night.”

“There’s one thing I haven’t dared to ask him:  to take his own name—­to become Frederick Augustus von Stroebel, even if he doesn’t want his father’s money or the title.  Quite likely he will refuse that, too.”

“It is possible.  Most things seem possible with Armitage.”

“It’s simply providential that he hasn’t become a citizen of your republic.  That would have been the last straw!”

They rose as Armitage called to them from a French window near by.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen!  When two diplomats get their heads together on a summer afternoon, the universe is in danger.”

He came toward them hatless, but trailing a stick that had been the prop of his later convalescence.  His blue serge coat, a negligee shirt and duck trousers had been drawn a few days before from the trunks brought by Oscar from the bungalow.  He was clean-shaven for the first time since his illness, and the two men looked at him with a new interest.  His deepened temples and lean cheeks and hands told their story; but his step was regaining its old assurance, and his eyes were clear and bright.  He thrust the little stick under his arm and stood erect, gazing at the near gardens and then at the hills.  The wind tumbled his brown newly-trimmed hair, and caught the loose ends of his scarf and whipped them free.

“Sit down.  We were just talking of you.  You are getting so much stronger every day that we can’t be sure of you long,” said the Baron.

“You have spoiled me,—­I am not at all anxious to venture back into the world.  These Virginia gardens are a dream world, where nothing is really quite true.”

“Something must be done about your father’s estate soon.  It is yours, waiting and ready.”

The Baron bent toward the young man anxiously.

Armitage shook his head slowly, and clasped the stick with both hands and held it across his knees.

“No,—­no!  Please let us not talk of that any more.  I could not feel comfortable about it.  I have kept my pledge to do something for his country—­something that we may hope pleases him if he knows.”