“She never did approve, if that’s what you were about to say.  What is she afraid of?  Does she imagine that I want to marry you?  Good heavens!” So devout was his implied denial of such a project that she felt herself grow hot.  “Doesn’t she think the prince has you safely won?  You are old enough to take care of yourself, I’m sure.”

“She knows that I love Prince Ugo, and that he is the only man I shall ever love.  Her disapproval would arise from the needless exposure to comment.  You remember what the London paper said about us.”  If she thought that he was chilled by her bold opening assertion she was to find herself mistaken.  He smiled complacently.

“I thought it was very nice of them.  I am preserving the clipping,” he said, airily.  “We can talk over this little difficulty with public opinion when we’ve had more time to think about it.  You see, I’ve been here but ten hours, and I may be willing to leave tomorrow, that is, after I’ve seen more of the town.  I may not like the king, and I’m quite sure the palace doesn’t suit me.  I’ll come around to-morrow and we’ll drive through one of these famous parks—­”

“Oh, no, Phil!  Really, you don’t know how it embarrasses me—­”

“I’ll go away to-night, if you say you don’t want to see me at all, Dorothy,” he said, seriously, rising and standing before her.

“I don’t mean that.  You know I want to see you—­for old times’ sake.”

“I shall go, nevertheless, if you merely hint that I am unwelcome.”  She arose and suddenly gave him her hand.

“You are not unwelcome, and you are foolish to speak in that manner,” she said, seriously.

“And your mother?”

“She must endure what I endure.”

“Somewhere Baedeker says that the Bois de la Cambre is the finest park in Brussels,” said he, his eyes gleaming.

“I am quite sure Baedeker is reliable,” she agreed, with a smile.

“At three o’clock to-morrow afternoon, then, I will come for you.  Will you remember me to your mother and tell her I am sorry not to see her to-day?  Good-bye!”

She followed him to the door, and when he sped lightly down the steps there was a broad smile on the face of each.  He turned and both laughed outright.  “Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” she mused, as she went to her room upstairs.  An hour later her daily letter to the prince was ready for the post.  The only allusion to the visitor of the morning was:  “Mr. Quentin—­our New York friend, you will remember—­made us a brief call this morning.  He is quite undecided as to the length of his stay here, but I hope you will be here to see him.”

Then, dismissing Quentin from her mind, she sat down to dream of the one great event in her life—­this wonderful, glorious wedding in old St. Gudule’s.  Already her trousseau was on a fair way to completion.  She gave no thought to the fortune that these gowns were to cost, she considered not the glories she was to reap by becoming a real princess, she dwelt not on the future before her, for she knew she was to be happy with Ugo.  Instead, she dreamed only of the “color scheme” that was to make memorable her wedding procession.