“You have no wrap,” he said.  “I thought you would not have, so I had prepared this,” and he indicated a man’s gray Russian, unremarkable-looking cloak, which, however, proved to be lined with fine sable, “and here, also, is a veil.  If you will please me by putting them on, we can then have the auto open and no one will recognize you—­even should we meet your uncle and aunt; that is fun, is it not?”

Stella had thrown every consideration to the winds, except the determination to enjoy herself.  Years of rebellion at the boredom of her existence seemed to be urging her on.  So she meekly slipped into the cloak, and wrapped the veil right over her hat, and they started.  Her heart was thumping so with excitement she could not have spoken for a moment.

But as they went rapidly on through the crowded streets, her companion’s respectful silence reassured her.  There seemed to be some rapport between them, she was conscious of a feeling that he understood her thoughts, and was not misjudging her.

“You are like a little frightened bird,” he said presently.  “And there is nothing to cause you the least fear.  We shall soon come to the lovely gardens, and watch the lowering sun make its beautiful effects in the trees, and we shall hear the nightingales throbbing out love songs—­the world is full of rest and peace—­ when we have had enough passion and strife and want its change—­ but you do not know anything of it, and this simple drive is causing you tumults and emotions—­is it not so?”

“Yes,” said Stella, with a feeling that she had burnt all her ships.

“It is because you have never been allowed to be you, I suppose,” he went on softly.  “So doing a natural and simple thing seems frightful—­because it would seem so to the rigid aunt.  Now, I have been me ever since I was born—­I have done just what seemed best to me.  Do you suppose I am not aware that the way my hair is cut is a shock to most civilized persons; and that you English would strongly disapprove of my watch and my many other things.  But I like them myself—­it is no trouble for one of my valets to draw a straight line with a pair of scissors—­and if I must look at the time, I prefer to look at something beautiful.  I am entirely uninfluenced by the thoughts or opinions of any people—­they do not exist for me except in so far as they interest me and are instructive or amusing.  I never permit myself to be bored for an instant.”

“How good that must be,” Stella ventured to say—­her courage was returning.

“Civilized human beings turn existence into a prison,” he went on, meditatively, “and loaded themselves with shackles, because some convention prevents their doing what would give them innocent pleasure.  If I had been under the dominion of these things we should not now be enjoying this delightful drive—­at least, it is delightful to me—­to be thus near you and alone out of doors.”

Stella did not speak, she was altogether too full of emotion to trust herself to words just yet.  They had turned into the Corso by now, and, as ever, it appeared as though it were a holiday, so thronged with pedestrians was the whole thoroughfare.  Count Roumovski seemed quite unconcerned, but Miss Rawson shrank back into her corner, a new fear in her heart.