When she was on her feet, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, saying:-- "Yolanda or Mary--it's all one to me.

There is not another like you in all the world." She drew herself up haughtily: "Sir, this indignity shall cost you dear," and turning her back on him she moved away three or four paces.
Then she stopped and glanced over her shoulder.

His face had lost its smile, and she knew the joke had gone far enough; so the dimples began to cluster about the quivering corners of her mouth, the long black lashes fell for a moment, a soft radiance came to her eyes, and she asked:-- "Which shall it be, Sir Max, Yolanda or the princess ?" "Yolanda," cried Max, huskily, while he held out his hands to her.

Quick as the movement of a kitten, she sprang to him and allowed his arms to close about her for one brief moment.

While one might count ten she rested her head on his breast, but all too quickly she turned her face to his and whispered:-- "Are you sure?
Is it Yolanda ?" "Yes, yes, Yolanda.