"Oh, I had better go," he muttered, rubbing the roughness on his chin.
"I owe it to Olga. But why the devil they can't leave a fellow
alone--" and, fuming silently, he shaved, made a toilet, and packing
some things in a much battered suit case made his way to the launch.

At the Westport landing he found the Countess Olga, wonderfully attired
in an afternoon costume of pale green, awaiting him in a motor.

"There's a chance for you still, my friend," she laughed. "You have
won my fond regard--and, incidentally, the cost of a new frock."

"I?"

"Yes. We laid a bet as to whether you would come, Hermia and I. We've
been watching the island through the telescope, and saw you embark--so
to me--the victor, falls the honor of conducting you home in triumph."

"I'm to go in chains, it seems," he laughed, getting in beside her.
"I've rarely seen you looking so handsome."

"You're improving. It's joy, _mon ami_, at seeing once again a full
grown man. I have been bored--oh, so bored! Will you be nice to me?"

The motor skimmed smoothly over the perfect roads, mounting the hills
through the village and spinning along a turnpike flanked by summer
residences. "Wake Robin" stood at some distance from the village on
the highest point of the hills and made a very imposing vista from the
driveway--an English house with long wings at either side, flanked by
terraces, lawns and gardens, guarded from the intrusive eyes of the