“At last!” he cried, when they were safely inside and had gone a few paces along the avenue.  “I was beginning to think you did not mean to keep your word!  I am glad you have come!”

“Why, of course I meant to keep my word.  I never break it,” Sabine said astonished.  “I am longing to be free just like you are, but I had an awful business to get away!  I have never been so excited in my life!  Their train was late—­some breakdown on the branch line—­they did not get in until half-past eight, and I dare not be all dressed, but had to pretend to be in bed, covered up, still with the awful headache, when Aunt Jemima bounced in.”  Then she laughed joyously at the recollection of her escape.  “The moment she had gone off to her supper, tucking me up for the night, I jumped up and got on my dress and hat and her dust cloak and then I had to watch my moment, creep down those funny little stairs, and out of the side door—­and so across here.  You know it was far harder to manage than the last feast Moravia Cloudwater and I gave to the girls the night before she went to Paris!  Isn’t it fun!  I do like having these adventures, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Michael, and looked down into her face.

She was extremely pretty, he thought, in the soft dusk of this Northern evening.  Her leghorn hat with its wreath of blue forget-me-nots was most becoming and her brown hair was ruffled a little by the hat’s hasty donning.

[Illustration:  “He bounded forward to meet her”]

“I needn’t keep this old cloak on, need I?” she asked.  “Nobody can see us here and it is so hot.”

He helped her off with it and carried it for her.  She looked prettier still now, the slender lines of her childish figure were so exquisite in their promise of beautiful womanhood later on, and the Sunday frock of white foulard was most sweet.

Michael was very silent; it almost made her nervous, but she prattled on.

“This is my best frock,” she laughed, “because even though it is only a business arrangement, one couldn’t get married in an old blouse, could one?”

“Of course not!” and he strode nearer to her.  “I am in evening dress, you see—­just like a French bridegroom for those wedding parties in the Bois! so we are both festive—­but here we are at the postern door!”

He opened it with his key and they stole across the short lawn and up the balcony steps like two stealthy marauders.  Then he turned and held out his hand to her in the blaze of electric light.

“Welcome!  Oh! it is good of you to have come!”

She shook hands frankly—­it seemed the right thing to do, she felt, since they were going to oblige one another and both gain their desires.  Then it struck her for the first time that he was a very handsome young man—­quite the Prince Charming of the girls’ dreams.  A thousand times finer than Moravia’s Italian prince with whom for her part she had been horribly disappointed when