"There is no need to answer now," he said softly. "If fate means
us to be happy, she will arrange it--I think you will come."

Miss Rawson started to her feet, and absently put her letter to
her fiance--which contained merely the sentence that they had
arrived in Rome--into its envelope and fastened it up.

"I must go now--good-bye," she said.

"It is not good-bye," the Russian answered gravely. "By six
o'clock, we shall be driving in the Borghese Gardens and hearing
the nightingales sing."

As Stella walked to the lift with a tumultuously beating heart,
she asked herself what all this could possibly mean, and why she
was not angry--and why this stranger--whose appearance outraged
all her ideas as to what an English gentleman should look like--
had yet the power to fascinate her completely. Of course, she
would not go for a drive with him--and yet, what would be the
harm? After September she would never have a chance like this
again. There would be only Eustace Medlicott and parish duties--
yes--if fate made it possible, she would go!

And she went on to her room with exhilarating sense of adventure
coursing through her veins.

"I have found out the name of the peculiar-looking foreigner who
sat near us last night," Canon Ebley said, as they drove to the
Lateran in a little Roman Victoria, "it is Count Roumovski; I
asked the hall porter--reprehensible curiosity I fear you will