“Isn’t this a charming walk, Mrs. Howard,” and “Yes, isn’t it!” and bows and passings on; but it broke the current, destroyed the spell, and released some spirit of mischief in Sabine’s heart, for she would not be grave for another second.  She made Henry promise he would just amuse her and not refer again to those serious topics unless she gave him leave.  And he, accustomed to go his own way unhampered by the caprices of the gentle sex, agreed!—­so under the dominion of love had he become! for a woman, too, who in herself combined three things he had always disliked.  She was an American, she was very young, and she had an equivocal position.  But the little god does not consult the individual before he shoots his darts, and punishes the most severely those who have denied his power.

By the time they had reached the Savoy, Sabine, with that aptitude, though it was perfectly unconscious in her, which is the characteristic of all her countrywomen, had reduced Lord Fordyce to complete subjection, so that he was ready to do any mortal thing in the world for her, and willing to grasp suggestions of hope upon any terms.

She gave him a friendly smile, and disappeared up the stairs to their sitting-room—­there to find Moravia indulging in nerves.

“I just want to scream, darling!” that lady said, and Sabine patted her hands.

“Then don’t, Morri, dearest,” she implored her.  “You only want to because your mother, if she had been idle, would have wanted to scrub the floors—­just as my father’s business capacity came out in me just now, and I fenced with and sampled a very noble gentleman instead of being simple with him.  Let us get above our instincts—­and be the real aristocrats we appear to the world!”

But the Princess had to have some sal volatile.

That night after dinner waywardness was upon Sabine.  She would read the New York Herald, which she had absolutely not glanced at since their arrival at Carlsbad, so absorbed and entranced had she been in her walks in the green woods, and so little interested was she ever in the doings of the world.

She glanced at the Trouville news, and the Homburg news with wandering mind, and then her eye fell upon the polo at Ostende, and there she read that the English team had been giving a delightful dance at the Casino, where Mr. Michael Arranstoun had sumptuously entertained a party of his friends—­amongst them Miss Daisy Van der Horn.  The paragraph was worded with that masterly simplicity which distinguishes intelligent, modern journalism; and left the reader’s mind confused as to words, but clear as to suggestion.  Sabine Howard knew Miss Daisy Van der Horn.  As she read, the bright, soft color left her cheeks, and then returned with a brilliant flush.

It was the first time for five years she had ever read the name of Arranstoun in any paper.  She held the sheet firmly, and perused all the other information of the day—­but when she put it down, and joined in the general conversation, it could have been remarked that her eyes were glittering like fixed stars.