Why, it must be Paul de Virieu's sister! How very kind of her, and—and how very kind of him.
The letter must have been actually written when Count Paul was in Paris with his sister—and yet, when they had passed one another the evening before, he had bowed as distantly, as coldly, as he might have done to the most casual of acquaintances.
Sylvia got up, filled with a tumult of excited feeling which this simple invitation to luncheon scarcely warranted.
But Paul de Virieu came in from his ride also eager, excited, smiling.
"Have you received a note from my sister?" he asked, hurrying towards her in the dining-room which they now had to themselves each morning. "When I told her how you and I had become"—he hesitated a moment, and then added the words, "good friends, she said how much she would like to meet you. I know that you and my dear Marie-Anne would like one another"
"It is very kind of your sister to ask me to come and see her," said Sylvia, a little stiffly.
"I am going back to Paris this evening," he went on, "to stay with my sister for a couple of nights. So if you can come to-morrow to lunch, as I think my sister has asked you to do, I will meet you at the station."
After breakfast they went out into the garden, and when they were free of the house Count Paul said suddenly,
"I told Marie-Anne that you were fond of riding, and, with your permission, she proposes to send over a horse for you every morning. And, Madame—forgive
