She turned upon me, flushed and spirited.

“Mr. Bayne, you are incorrigible!  Why will you insist on belittling everything that you have done?  I suppose you will claim next that you didn’t risk imprisonment or death every minute of a whole day, just to help me, and that at Prezelay you didn’t fight like a—­a—­yes, like a paladin!—­to save me from being tortured by Herr von Blenheim and his men!”

I started up and then sank back.

“As a special favor,” I begged her, “would you mind not mentioning that last phase of the affair?  When you do, I go berserker; I’m a crazy man, seeing red; I’m honestly not responsible.  It was when our friend Blenheim developed those plans of his that I swore in my soul I’d get him; and I thank the Lord that I did and that he’ll never trouble you or any other woman again.

“Still, Miss Falconer, what does all that amount to?  Any man would have helped you, wouldn’t he?  A nice sort of fellow I should have been to do any less!  Whereas for a girl like you I ought to have accomplished miracles.  I ought to have made the sun stop moving, or got you the stars to play with, or whisked the moon out of the skies.”

She was laughing again.

“Dear me!” she exclaimed.  “What fervor!  Can this be my Mr. Bayne, the Mr. Bayne of our adventure, who never turned a hair no matter what mad things happened, and who was always so correct and conventional and so immaculately dressed, and so—­”

“Stodgy!  Say it!” I cried with utter recklessness.  “I know I was; Dunny told me so that evening at the St. Ives.  Have as many cracks at me as you like.  I was getting fat; I was beginning to think that the most important thing in the universe was dinner.  Well, I’m not stodgy any longer, Esme Falconer; you’ve reformed me.  But of all the men in all the ages who were ever desperately, consumedly, imbecilely in love—­”

In the distance two figures were strolling toward the blue car, the duke and the duchess.  When they reached it, the Firefly cast a glance in our direction and sounded a warning, most unwelcome honk upon the horn.  They were going, stony-hearted creatures that they were!  They were taking Esme back to Paris.  At the thought I abandoned my last pretense at self-command.

“Esme, dearest,” I implored, “do you think you could put up with me?  Could you marry me when I’ve done my part over here—­or even sooner—­right away?  A dozen better men may love you, but mine is a special brand of love—­unique, incomparable!  Are you going to have me—­or shall I jump into the lake?”

The sunset light was in her hair and in the gray, starry eyes she turned to me—­those eyes that, because their lashes were so long and crinkled so maddeningly, were only half revealed.  Her lips curved in a fleeting smile.

“Oh, you dear, blind, silly man!  Do you think any girl could help loving you—­after all that has happened to you and me?” she whispered.