She had seen nothing of the world, its sports and pastimes, and the art of playing at love was unknown to her.

Again he could see her serious eyes, the delicate chin and mouth, the oval cheeks, and the dog that followed in her steps.

Here was an indelible picture which time could never efface.

Something stirred in his heart, and he sighed.
And ah, the woman in the veil! Who could she be?
The more he thought of her the more convinced he was that she stood high in the service of any one but Leopold of Osia.

And Fitzgerald! That sober old soldier concerned with crowns and millions! It was incredible; it was almost laughable.