She spoke quite naturally and without the least fear of Volterra and his wife, who looked on and listened in dumb surprise at her self-possession.  She meant every word she said, and more too, but she had thought out the little speech while she was dressing, for she had guessed what must be happening in the study.  Malipieri fixed his eyes on hers gratefully, but did not find an answer at once.

“Will you remember?” she repeated.

“I shall never forget,” he answered, not quite steadily,

By one of those miracles which are the birthright of certain women, she had made her dress look almost fresh again.  The fawn-coloured hat was restored to its shape, or nearly.  The mud that had soiled her skirt had dried and she had brushed it away, though it had left faint spots on the cloth, here and there; pins hid the little rents so cleverly that only a woman’s eye could have detected anything wrong, and the russet shoes were tolerably presentable.  The Baroness saw traces of the adventure to which the costume had been exposed, but Volterra smiled and was less inclined than ever to believe the story which both had told, though he did not say so.

“My wife and I,” he said cordially, “quite understand what has happened, and no one shall ever know about it, unless you speak of it yourself.  She will go home with you now, and will then take you to the Russian Embassy to see your mother.”

Sabina looked at him in surprise, for she had expected a disagreeable scene.  Then she glanced at the Baroness’s sallow and angry face, and she partly understood the position.

“Thank you,” she said proudly, “but if you do not mind, I will go to my mother directly.  You will perhaps be so kind as to have my things sent to the Embassy, or my mother’s maid will come and get them.”

“You cannot go looking like that,” said the Baroness severely.

“On the contrary,” Volterra interposed, “I think that considering your dangerous adventure, you look perfectly presentable.  Of course, we quite understand that as the Princess has returned, you should wish to go back to her at once, though we are very sorry to let you go.”

Sabina paused a moment before answering.  Then she spoke to the Baroness, only glancing at Volterra.

“Until to-day, you have been very kind to me,” she said with an effort.  “I thank you for your kindness, and I am sorry that you think so badly of me.”

“My dear young lady,” cried the Baron, lying with hearty cordiality, “you are much mistaken!  I assure you, it was only a momentary misapprehension on the part of my wife, who had not even spoken with Signor Malipieri.  His explanation has been more than satisfactory.  Is it not so, my dear?” he asked, turning to the Baroness for confirmation of his fluent assurances.

“Of course,” she answered, half choking, and with a face like thunder; but she dared not disobey.

“If my mother says anything about my frock, I shall tell her the whole story,” said Sabina, glancing at her skirt.