“What a splendid personality!  How I wish I had seen more of her!  I generally manage to seize the occasion, but fate kept you and her beyond my reach.  Why did we not all meet this time last year?”

“Oh, do not talk of that!” I cried.  I felt I could not bear to hear any more.  “I am trying to forget, and to find life full of compensations.  Grandmamma and the Marquis promised me that I should.”

He looked at me, stopped in the path, and bent down to a level with my face.  His eyes seemed as if they could see right through my mind then, as on another occasion in our lives.

“Dear little white Comtesse!” he said.  Almost the same words.

An emotion that is new to me happened.  It was as if my heart beat in my throat.

“We are dawdling by this fountain,” I said.  “Where are the woods?”

After that we were gay.  He told me of many things.  I seemed to see a clear picture of the world as he talked—­a light and pleasant world, where no one was so foolish as to care for anything seriously.

One felt a donkey, to worry or grieve when the sun shone and the birds sang!

How I enjoyed myself!

“Has Babykins chirped at you yet?” he asked, presently.  “She is very dangerous when she chirps.”

“I do not like her,” I said.

“Oh, you will presently.  We all love Babykins.  She acts as a sort of moral mosquito in a big party.  She flies around stinging every one, and then we compare our bites and tear and scratch the irritated places together.  You will meet her everywhere—­she is the only person Tilchester takes a serious interest in.”

“Are you staying here,” I asked, “or did you only drive over?”

“I sent for my servant to bring my things, and I shall stay now I find you.  You always seem to forget we are cousins, and that people ought to take an interest in their relations!”

“Tell me about your house—­Dane Mount it is called, is it not?” I asked, presently.  We had been silent for a moment, walking down a shady path, great pine-trees on each side.

“No, I won’t tell you about it; you must come over there some day and stop with me for a night or so.  You ought to see the home of your ancestors, you know.  Promise me you will when I come back from Scotland!”

We had gone deep into the wood by now.  It was quite dusky.  The thick trees met overhead, and only an occasional sunbeam penetrated through.

I felt stupid.  The words did not come so easily as when I am with the Duke.

“How silent you are, Comtesse!”

“Is it not time to go back?” I said, stupidly.

“No, not nearly time.  I want you to tell me all about yourself—­where you lived, and all that happened until you flashed into my life at the Tilchester ball.  See, we will sit down on this log of wood and be quite comfortable.”

We sat down.

“Now begin, Comtesse:  ’Once upon a time, when I was a little girl, I came from—­where?’”