Here was a woman with whom he was as sure to fall in love as he was sure that the sun shone.

He liked the thought of it.

Now he appreciated the distinction between the Olga Platanova type and that which represented the blood of kings.

There _was_ a difference! Here was the true Patrician! The Castle suddenly loomed up before them--grey and frowning, not more than three hundred yards away.

He was possessed of a wild desire to walk straight into the grim old place and proclaim himself the feudal owner, seizing everything as his own--particularly the young woman in the rajah silk.