“Never mind that—­I am sympathetic, and I am your host—­and, by Jove!—­won’t you have some tea!  You look awfully tired and—­dusty,” and he rang the bell, and then reseated himself.  “See, to be quite orthodox, we will make our own introduction—­I am Michael Arranstoun—­and you are——?”

The girl rose and made him a polite bow.  “I am Sabine Delburg,” she announced.  He bowed also—­and then she went into a peal of silvery laughter that seemed to contain all the glad notes of spring and youth.  “Oh, this is fun! and I—­I should like some tea!” She caught sight of herself in an old mirror, which stood upon a commode.  “Goodness, what a guy I look!  Why didn’t you tell me that my hat was crooked!” She settled it straight, and began searching for a handkerchief up her sleeve and in her belt, but none was to be found.

So Mr. Arranstoun handed her a clean one he chanced to have in his pocket.  “I expect you want to wipe the smudge of dirt off your face,” he hazarded.

She took it laughing, and showing an even row of beautiful teeth between red, full baby lips.

“You are the owner of this castle,” she went on, as she gave firm rubs at the velvet pink cheeks.  “That must be nice.  You can do what you like, I suppose,” and here a sigh of regret escaped and made her voice lower.

“I wish I could,” Mr. Arranstoun answered feelingly.

“Well, if I were a man, I would!”

“What would you do?”

She turned and faced him, while she said, with extreme solemnity: 

“I should never marry Mr. Greenbank.”

Michael laughed.

“I don’t suppose you would if you were a man!” At this moment, a footman answered the bell.  “Bring tea, please,” his master ordered, inwardly amused at the servant’s astonished face, and then when they were alone again, he continued his sympathetic questioning.

“Who is Mr. Greenbank?  You had to flee from him—­you said he was horrid, I believe?”

Miss Delburg had removed her hat, and was trying to tidy her hair before readjusting it; she had the hat-pin in her mouth, but took it out to answer vehemently: 

“So he is, a pig!  And I went and got engaged to him this morning!  You see,” turning to the glass again, quite unembarrassed, “I can’t get my money until I am married—­and Uncle is so disagreeable, and Aunt Jemima nags all day long, and it was left in Papa’s will that I was to live with them—­and I don’t come of age until I am twenty-one, but I can get the money directly if I marry—­I was seventeen in May, and of course no one could stand it till twenty-one!  Mr. Greenbank is the only person who has asked me, and Aunt Jemima says no one else ever will!  I have been out of the Convent for a whole month, and I can’t bear it.”

Michael was beginning really to enjoy himself.  She was something so fresh, so entirely different to anything he had ever seen in his life before.  There was nothing of shyness or awkwardness in her manner, as any English girl would have shown.  She was absolutely at ease, with a childish, confiding innocence which he saw plainly was real, and not put on for his benefit.  It was almost incredible in these up-to-date days.  A most engaging morsel of seventeen summers, he decided, as he answered with over-grave concern: