51278 HARLEQUIN 50

fa

Anita Charles

The King of the Castle

by ANITA CHARLES

Of the two Warren sisters — 'Velda and Sue — Velda was the beauty, and Sue not precisely the plain one, but not nearly as dazzling as Velda.

When their uncle died and left them a chalet in Austria, Velda was not really enthusiastic until she met the Graf von Speitz, their handsome neigh-bour and owner of the Schloss Speitz. He had only one arm, as the result of an accident, but Velda was prepared to overlook this because of his wealth, and the thought of becoming a countess. But Axel von Speitz met Sue first . . in the woods surrounding his estate. And the meeting was a memorable one in both their lives.

4 HARLEQUIN

Rom ance

THE KING OF THE CASTLE

THE KING OF THE CASTLE

by

ANITA CHARLES

HARLEQUIN B OOKS Winnipeg • Canada New York • New York

THE KING OF THE CASTLE

First published in 1963

Harlequin Canadian edition published February, 1969 Harlequin U.S. edition published May, 1969

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the Author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the

Author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

The Harlequin trade mark, consisting of the Word HARLEQUIN® and the portrayal of a Harlequin, is registered in the United States Patent Office and in the Canada Trade Marks Office.

Standard Book Number: 373-51278-0.

Copyright, CO, 1969, by Mills & Boon Ltd. All rights reserved.

Printed in the U.S.A.

THE KING OF THE CASTLE

First published in 1963

Harlequin Canadian edition published February, 1969 Harlequin U.S. edition published May, 1969

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the Author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the

Author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

The Harlequin trade mark, consisting of the word HARLEQUINS and the portrayal of a Harlequin, is registered in the United States Patent Office and in the Canada Trade Marks Office.

Standard Book Number: 373-51278-0.

Copyright, ©, 1969, by Mills & Boon Ltd. All rights reserved.

Printed in the U.S.A.

CHAPTER ONE

VELDA, in brief shorts, poised herself gracefully on the wooden balcony rail.

"It seems a pity, now that we're here, that there's no one to talk to," she remarked, glancing about her at the sunlit peaks, and the sparkling beauty of the valley at that early hour of the morning. She lit a cigarette with a vague air of being slightly bored already. "No one, that is, apart from the villagers, and that rather elderly man who travelled on the train with us. I've discovered that he's staying at the Gasthaus in the village."

Sue peered into the coffee-pot to find out whether there was any more coffee, discovered there was not, and decided that her figure would not be endangered if she ate the last roll in the basket, and helped herself to another large spoonful of delectable wild strawberry preserve.

"I don't think it matters if there isn't anyone to talk to," she replied, as she speared a golden curl of butter. "All this is so wonderful—" she waved a hand to indi-cate their surroundings— "that I feel I could exist very comfortably without saying anything to anyone for years."

Velda smiled at her a trifle contemptuously. "Poor Sue," she observed. "You're so easily satisfied

aren't you? But, then, I'll admit you don't get about very much, or see very much. This must seem like a glimpse of paradise to you after the Fulham Road. But I need people, rather than places, in my scheme of things. After all, I've had six months in Paris, and I

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have done a trip to New Zealand.. . Beside you I feel like a world-weary traveller!"

She flicked the ash from her cigarette, carelessly, over the veranda rail, and although there were no inter-ested eyes to study her settled herself more gracefully on her wooden support.

"And one can't overlook the importance of human companionship . . . apart from yours, of course, pet," smiling more benignly at her sister. "And from that you'll be able to deduce that what I really mean is masculine companionship!"

Sue shook her head at her. "I don't understand you," she admitted. "Old Uncle

Jeremy was considerate enough to die and leave us this chalet, and we can stay here as long as we like, and yet you look a gift horse in the mouth, as it were . . . and want more! More than woods, and Alpine meadows, rivers and lakes and glorious, glorious mountain peaks!" Her eyes roved dreamily. "I simply fail to understand you . . ." And then, as if she suddenly did understand, she looked at Velda with a hint of sympathy.

For Velda was made to be admired . . . A slender, beautiful, up-and-coming London model, with exciting red-gold hair and genuine green eyes—clear green like softened emeralds—she obviously couldn't be happy without first establishing that some member of the opposite sex (even a definitely elderly one who had travelled on the same train with her and capitulated the instant she condescended to notice him) was residing in her immediate neighbourhood .

But it was hardly likely that Velda would content herself for long with the admiring looks of a somewhat plump bachelor who taught mathematics in an English

8

public school. And as he had booked in at the Gasthaus for a week only, that would mean that at the end of the week she would feel even more bereft . . . And apart from him there appeared to be only the village lads—sturdy, Austrian types with blond hair and cool blue Germanic stares, whom Uncle Jeremy had referred to in his letters as "peasants," and got along with, apparently, very well for years—to make her aware of how desir-able she was in her tailored slacks, model sunsuits, expensive chunky sweaters and cool evening gowns.

Not that it seemed very likely that there would be any occasion at all for the wearing of an evening gown in such a remote spot. An offshoot of the main valley, where the lakes that reflected the sky lay like blue mirrors on the green floor of the valley, and the river Inn twisted and turned like a gleaming, ice-blue thread.

Here they were in a world as isolated from the one that was full of bustle and movement as if they were on a desert island. Shut in by a solid wall of mountains on both sides of the valley, with green slopes thick with pine forests and larch forests, and only an occasional wooden-walled farmhouse to be seen here and there—and an onion-shaped spire that denoted a church—the sensation of solitude was like something that actually pressed on one.

Uncle Jeremy had waxed lyrical about the deer that stole down from the woods above the chalet to be fed at all seasons of the year, and the flowers that sur-rounded the chalet like a carpet in spring—at the moment it was June, and the carpet was rainbow-hued —but he had said nothing about the rough road which had to be negotiated before one could reach even the outskirts of the village, and the perilousness of the

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descent which must be practically impassable in winter. He had said nothing about neighbours, either, al-

though there appeared to be some sort of round tower peeping above the canopy of green a good many metres above the chalet. And Freda, who cooked for them, had tried to explain in the German which they neither of them understood very well, that it was the residence of the local feudal lord . . . or whatever his equivalent was in Austria.

"A baron, I expect," Velda, who liked to appear knowledgeable, had said at once. "There are heaps of barons in this part of the world."

But Freda shook her head. "Nicht baron," was all she said and they found it

quite impossible to extract any further information. Sue looked up at the round tower now, and she

thought it had a definitely fairy-tale aspect, and she wondered whether its owner had any connection with fairy tales. Perhaps, like so many of the fearsome figures in Grimm's, he kept unwanted visitors away by main-taining a dragon that could slay them at a glance, or was himself slightly dragon-like.

Although, how even a dragon could climb the steep approach to such a retreat she couldn't think. And if he was modern enough to own a car—the owner of the Gasthaus owned a car that had threatened to disinte-grate when it chugged them up to Uncle Jeremy's chalet —he probably had to leave it behind him in the village when returning from some expedition outside his realm of deep green woods and unseen, shadowy flowers. -

Then her glance returned to Uncle Jeremy's chalet, and satisfaction seeped through her. However, unfor-tunate it was for Velda to be temporarily incarcerated

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in such a spot, it was heaven for her. She could think of nothing that she could appreciate better, or wish to leave less . . . About fifty years old, and of dark, seasoned wood, with flower-draped balconies and an enormous overhang from the wide, spreading roof, it, too, belonged to the realm of fairy tales. Only the gar-den was severely practical, for there Freda grew all the vegetables for the kitchen . . . peas at this season of the year, dozens and dozens of lettuces, and fragrant-smelling herbs that made the whole house smell deli-ciously when she was concocting one of her special broths.

And, the wonder of it all was, that the garden and the chalet, and a tiny wood beyond it, belonged to Velda and to Sue—it was theirs jointly. Together with a microscopical income for its upkeep.

The will had stated simply: To my two nieces, Velda and Susannah Warren, I

give and bequeath all that belongs to me in this world." And as all that belonged to him was the chalet, a

large number of books (one or two of which he had written himself) and the small area of ground surround-ing the chalet, the handing-over process had been simple in the extreme.

At first Velda had said, "Let's let it! . . . Let's let it for the summer, and make some money!" But Sue had been so against this—at least until they had had an opportunity to see. it for themselves, and discover how much or how little they liked it—that she had consented to give up her summer holiday and devote it to the purpose of discovering Austria.

Now, although she liked Austria, she was aware of an acute disappointment . . . so acute that she had

1 1

already suggested to Sue that, if she really was as enamoured and contented as she seemed, she should stay on at the chalet alone . . . with Freda, of course, to look after her, and provide her with some sort of company.

Freda lived in the village, but she made a daily pilgrimage to the chalet, and it wouldn't be too lonely if you were as devoted to scenery as Sue was.

"With Uncle Jeremy's money, and the little that you have of your own, you could stay here for months, if you would like to do so," Velda suggested. "It isn't as if that nasty little bookshop where you work really needs you back, and you've said so often that you'd like a change if a change could become possible."

That was true enough—except that it wasn't a "nasty little bookshop" where Sue worked, and she had been reasonably content for the past eighteen months. But the flat she shared with Velda in the Fulham Road would look less habitable if she wasn't there to keep it in some sort of order.

She looked doubtfully at her sister. "It seems such a pity that you can't enjoy a holiday

here when it's your very own holiday-house. Can't you try? Won't you at least stay for another week?"

Velda looked up at the round tower, and the whis-pering leaves that hemmed it in.

"If only that unsociable bloke up there would come sailing down in a long cream car and take us both into Innsbruck, I'd stay, of course! If only he'd come down and invite us to crawl up through his woods and have a drink in baronial splendour, I'd stay. But as he has

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obviously made up his mind to do neither of those two things I'm going to Innsbruck with Charles Denby."

She swung her long, slim legs down off the wooden rail, and yawned a little as she stretched herself.

"So early in the morning, and so little to do! But at least Charles has found out how to hire a car."

"Is Charles the man on the train?" "Yes." Velda's green eyes glinted at her with amuse-

ment. "He's better than no man at all . . . Or that's how I look at it! But, what will you do while I'm gone? A little hoeing for Freda, or wash out your smalls?"

"I shall probably do both." Sue smiled back at her without any rancour, and with the extraordinary sweet-ness that made her face unusually attractive at times. But it would never be as attractive as Velda's, and she knew that . . . and was not perturbed.

One real beauty in the family was enough, she thought. For herself, well . . . She had grown used to the sight of herself in her dressing-table mirror, and was not unduly ambitious to improve upon nature. For one thing, you couldn't do much about brown hair that was really brown, and could never be described as chestnut; and hazel-brown eyes, although extraordin-arily limpid at times, would never work the havoc that clear green flashing ones could work all in a moment. Or so she told herself .. .

And instead of tailored slacks she wore slightly crumpled shorts when she was going for a ramble, and cotton dresses for other occasions. She went and changed into a pink linen one when she discovered there was no need for her services in the kitchen, and Freda had already washed out her flimsy nylon under-things. Of the two sisters, Freda definitely preferred the

13

younger one, the undemanding Sue—and the latter wished she wouldn't show her partiality in this way.

And as Velda declined to allow anyone to handle her exquisite bras and panties, there was no need to make a martyr of herself and stay in and wash those.

Instead, she said goodbye to Freda, and went out into the sunshine, and the exquisite freshness of the morning. She told herself that a walk along .a mountain track was an adventure in itself, and this morning she intended to venture just a little way into the woods that bounded their unknown neighbour's estate.

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CHAPTER TWO.

SUCH coolness, and such shade, were like a draught of running water after the brazen heat of the open hill-side. Sue had never known such enchanted woods before . . . still, and utterly silent, as if a light movement like a footfall might precipitate some violent reaction, and therefore the silence had to be maintained.

Peering into the gloom beneath the trees she could see flowers blooming in profusion, and they had a heady perfume which rose with the scent of young lichens to her nostrils. She inhaled deeply, feeling vaguely excited by the moistness, and the slight earth-iness of this wooded wonderland. The green twilight inside a cavern, spread upwards beneath the leafy branches until it became a more intense gloom, save where stray fingers of sunlight penetrated and formed patches of misty gold; and it spread on both sides of her, running along inside fences that were obviously intended to ensure the owner's privacy.

Sue had entered by means of a gap in one of the fences, and it didn't particularly trouble her to know that she was trespassing. After all, the feudal lord could but order her to return by the way she had come if he pounced upon her suddenly.

But she didn't expect him to pounce upon her, for he probably had far better things to do. Up there, rising above that tangle of larch and juniper, beech and ash, was his ancient castle, and she wished she could catch a more satisfying glimpse of the round tower before

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curbing her curiosity and withdrawing to the public footpath and returning to the chalet.

She moved cautiously a little farther inside the wood, and as she moved she stooped to pick the flowers that were crowding round her ankles So many of them, she thought, and doomed to blush unseen in this tucked-away place . . . this secret, silent place that was preg-nant with the mystery that surrounds a fairy tale. Her imagination worked overtime, and she decided that only a knight in shining armour should come striding to her amongst these trees, not an under-gardener, or a wood-cutter, or just an ordinary youth employed to prevent the trailing brambles from becoming a positive underfoot menace as one advanced still farther into forbidden territory.

She was concentrating on removing one of the brambles from her bare ankle when she first heard the loud barking of a dog in her near vicinity. She forgot the bramble and stood upright, realizing that it was a very large dog that had uttered those barks, and that it was getting unpleasantly closer every second. She had a wholesome fear of dogs trained to protect lonely places, and heedless of a badly scratched leg as the bramble tore itself free, and a slope that was so steep that it demanded the utmost caution in descending it, she turned to run.

She did run a few steps, and then inevitably lost her balance and fell, rolling over and over down the slope until a tree-trunk intercepted her progress, and a sharp crack on the head rendered her temporarily unaware of what was going on around her.

When she opened her eyes a huge mastiff was stand-ing over her, its tongue lolling out and its eyes watchful,

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and the sight of it nearly sent her off into sheer, nervous oblivion once more. But a voice belonging to someone she couldn't see addressed her in a tone of sharp enquiry.

"Are you all right, fraulein? I'm sorry, but if I offer you my one hand to help you up Melissa might take it into her head to interfere . . ."

Wincing a little at the sharp pain that shot through her head, Sue managed to put it back a little more and catch a glimpse of the hand that was holding the dog's collar—a slim, shapely, and very brown masculine hand. It interested her so much that she even took note of the fact that a heavy gold signet-ring adorned the little finger.

Making a supreme effort she sat up, twisted a little sideways, and saw the whole of him. And having seen the whole of him she experienced an odd sensation, like shock, as if she had once more hurtled down a mountainside and cracked her head against a tree.

"I do apologize for being unable to offer you any assistance," the soft voice, speaking in German, said again. He sounded vitally concerned this time. "If you care to remain where you are until I can get some help . . ."

"No, no, I'm perfectly all right," Sue assured him, and scrambled to her feet to prove it. She dusted the leaves from her pink linen skirt, gazed ruefully at her flowers that were scattered all about her feet, and tried not to be aware of that pink tongue quivering as if in anticipation so near to her, or the canine eyes that so ceaselessly watched her. "Perfectly all right," she re-peated, a trifle breathlessly.

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"Melissa wouldn't really hurt you, you know," the man emphasized, quietly. "But she's young, and I don't entirely trust her." He took a firmer grip of the dog's collar with that one slim hand of his, then straightened and regarded her with a pair of completely inscrutable dark eyes. "You must have hit that tree with a lot of force, fraulein. You'll probably have a bad bump on the head later in the day."

She investigated under her hair with her fingers. "It's coming up now," she admitted, smiling a little

wryly. "In that case we'll have to do something about it."

He released the dog and ordered it at the same instant to return to the house, and to Sue's profound relief the enormous creature obeyed him without having any second thoughts, apparently, concerning herself, and the undoubted fact that she was an intruder. "If you'll come with me to the house I'll get my mother to have a look at it, and perhaps a cold compress at this stage will prevent you having any trouble later on."

By this time he was speaking in English, but so entirely free from accent was it that she scarcely noticed the polite transition from an alien tongue to her own. She had understood very little of what he was saying, but now she understood so readily that she was filled with almost instantaneous horror, and protested at once.

"Oh, no, no! I couldn't dream of troubling your mother .. . And in any case, there isn't any need!" She stooped and gathered up her flowers, and as she stood clutching them and confronting him and wonder-ing how soon she could make her escape she felt ex-tremely foolish, and not a little confused. "I'm terribly

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sorry your dog had to teach me manners, Mr.—er- Herr . . ."

"The name is von Speitz," he replied. "Herr von Speitz. But I was curious to see the inside

of your woods, and I wanted to catch a glimpse of your house."

"Then you now have an excellent opportunity to see the inside of my house." Was there the faintest lighten-ing of the darkness of his eyes, more like the faintest glimmering of a smile? "I think you must be one of the two young Englishwomen who are staying at the chalet that once belonged to my old friend Jeremy Warren. He died a few months ago, and the chalet has been empty until now. Are you a relation of his?"

"I'm his niece," Sue admitted. "My sister Velda and I have inherited the chalet under the terms of his will."

"I see," he 'said. He made her a formal little bow, and as his left sleeve was empty and hung loosely at his side, and the same side of his face was marred by a curiously livid- scar, she felt as if there was a touch of unreality to this woodland meeting. Apart from the empty sleeve and the scar he was a slenderly built man of middle height, dark with an Austrian darkness, sombre in a way that was new to her, and despite his disability impeccably dressed and groomed as if he had either overcome his disability or was in possession of a manservant who took pleasure in turning him out well.

He was also a man with a distinguished air, and it was easy enough to believe that these vast, spreading woods belonged to him, and the house with the crenel-lated tower that crowned them. The only thing she couldn't be certain about was how much his natural, in-born politeness acted as a screen for any annoyance

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he felt at having her gate-crashing his property, and requiring first-aid treatment as a result.

"May I take it that the name is Warren also?" he asked, not precisely as if he was prepared to welcome any connection of the Warren family, but rather as if —in the circumstances, at any rate—he felt it incum-' bent on him.

Sue flushed faintly. The very last thing she, person-ally, would do would be to trade on any affection he had had for her uncle. And if he thought that she had invaded his woods for the purpose—and in the hope!—of attracting some attention and being invited into the house . . .

"Yes," she said, "the name is Warren. Sue Warren." He bowed again, but he didn't offer her his good

band. "The way is a little steep, but if you'll follow in my

tracks I'll take you by the shortest route to the schloss. I think you could probably do with some coffee, or a glass of sherry, after your experience." Although she protested yet again he turned his slim, straight back on her and started to lead the way up the slightly perilous path. "Be careful of your head, fraulein! Some of the branches are very low, and you mustn't risk another blow on the head . . ."

Apart from the imminent danger of being decapitated by some of the low branches, she found it almost im-possible to keep her, feet on the narrow track. Stones were loosened by their ascent, and she felt as if the solid earth slid away from her every few seconds. A mountain cascade came roaring down the mountain not very far away from them, and some of the moisture that filled the air alighted on mosses and lichens

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clothing rocks and boulders that had to be circumna- vigated, and rendered them treacherous as hand-holds.

She was beginning to be afraid that she would have to give up, and pantingly admit that she couldn't follow him any farther, when von Speitz turned and offered her the hand that had so determinedly clung on to the dog's collar. She was grateful for the vital strength of his fingers as they closed over hers, but she was amazed by the steely strength of his one good arm as he drew her up beside him.

"I'm sorry, I forgot you have had one fall already, Miss Warren," he apologized. "Just hang on to me, and we'll come out on to a broader path any moment now. I've been accustomed to these woods since boyhood, so there's no danger of us both slipping and going down into the valley!"

She certainly found it was far easier going with his assistance, and although that empty sleeve brought her heart into her mouth every time she looked up at him and saw it, the realization was soon borne in on her that as a mountain-climber he probably had few equals. He had learned to do without that extra hand to grasp at things, and he had also developed an extra sense .. . a wonderful ability to remain poised and graceful even in the most awkward situations.

In a matter of minutes they had emerged from the woods, and Sue felt as if her breath was literally snatched away from her by the magnificence of the view once they were clear of the trees. Not merely a view of mountains and valleys, but a close-up view of the Schloss Speitz. It was older—much older—than she had imagined it, and although a little like a French

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château with its pepper-box towers far sturdier than any French château had any need to be.

Sue thought of it clinging to its mountain eyrie and weathering the storms of both winter and summer .. . Lashed at by wind and rain, standing up serenely to the frenzied onslaughts of blizzards Behind it there arose yet another wall of mountains, and in front of it there was a wide terrace. It was rather like a platform raised high in space, a dizzy eminence from which one could watch the sunsets and the dawns, the mist swirling about the tops , of the tallest trees in the forest below, the drowsy peace of the valley. And those sparkling rivers of blueness that ran along the floor of the main valley.

"Oh, but this is wonderful!" Sue heard herself exclaim, and the man at her side glanced at her with a half-smile on his lips.

"Worth the effort of that climb we've just made? Of course, if you'd been paying us a visit in the ordinary way, you could have got here by means of the main drive, which is not nearly so hazardous." he indicated the tail end of the drive, sweeping round to become a part of the terrace on which they were standing. "It's the usual method of approach."

Sue flushed slightly. "I'm afraid I'm nothing more nor less than a tres-

passer," she said guiltily. He shrugged his shoulders. "Occasionally people trespass. The woods are always

a temptation." "And like me they probably hope to get a closer

look at the castle . . . that is to say, if they are tourists."

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"Which you are not," he reminded her, "since you now own property in this part of the world."

"Oh, but I don't suppose we shall be here for long. Just a few more weeks."

He shrugged again, indifferently, as if how long she stayed was of no importance to him; and then he led her towards an arch that admitted them to a distinctly medieval-looking courtyard. He drew her attention to a coat-of-arms above the impressive main entrance door, and she gathered that it was not the heraldic symbols which he thought might interest her, but the extreme antiquity of their carving.

"Some of my earliest forbears were living here on the mountain when that was carved," he informed her, his beautifully-cut, sensitive profile alight suddenly with an undisguised form of pride. "And that," he added, "was a very long time ago!"

She glanced up at him curiously. "And do you, too, live here on the mountain all the

year round? Or do you only come here occasionally?" The question seemed to surprise him. "Naturally, we don't spend a lot of time here," he

replied. "When the passes close it would be too cut off, and our main home is in Vienna."

"I've never been to Vienna." She sighed. "I'd like to do so one day."

He glanced down at her with a faint uplifting of his brows, also beautifully marked, and as black as a raven's wing.

"You appear to me young enough to do all the things you may one day wish to do, Miss Warren," he re-marked; "so I wouldn't sound too wistful if I were you. When I was your age I had done so many things I now

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wish I hadn't done that it makes me feel almost twice my age when I look back on them."

Which was a strange confession, she thought, from a man who couldn't be more than thirty-two or three; and who—although he was minus one arm, and had had his almost startling good looks permanently marred by the livid scar on his left cheek—was master of this wonderful mountain retreat, and probably a very rich man besides.

When she was admitted to the inside of the schloss she had no doubts at all about his being a rich man. In England quite a number of people clung on to their family homes, and estates, and did so without the means to maintain them; but here there was every evidence that maintenance was just a matter of routine, and not lack of cash. Apart from the baronial impressiveness of well-preserved architectural features, the furnishings were superb. Sue, who was unaccustomed to living with rich brocades and elegant period furniture, thought they were also positively sumptuous.

The room into which she was shown after crossing the splendours of the main hall was almost certainly a kind of drawing-room, or main salon, and it was full of costly treasures, as well as exquisitely arranged flowers. Feminine touches were everywhere . . . in the curtains, the carpet, the casual distribution of books and magazines. No man could have been responsible for that off-white carpet, the satin-damask that flowed before the windows, the bowl of roses on a gilt console table just where the sunlight poured over it.

And certainly no man would have left a fashion magazine lying on the middle of a settee, or a piece of embroidery work lying on an occasional table.

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Sue received the impression that the feminine influ-ence in this room—and, possibly, the whole house—was strong; and she began to feel definitely apprehensive when her host, after providing her with a glass of sherry, and seeing her comfortably seated in a superbly-sprung armchair, said that he would go in search of his mother, and get her to take a look at that bump on his un-invited visitor's head.

Sue wanted to spring up out of her chair and beg him not to do anything of the kind. She even went so far as to catch his arm when he placed the sherry on a little table near to her, and assured him that she didn't want to disturb anyone, and that her head would heal itself without any assistance from his mother. Aware of the limitations of her dress—the pink linen that, by this time, was badly crumpled and stained, and even torn in one or two places, her open-toed sandals and stockingless legs—she felt appalled by the thought of being brought face to face with the owner of that Paris magazine devoted to high couture. But von Speitz merely elevated his eyebrows and looked his surprise.

"Of course you must receive some attention before you leave here." Despite her assertion that her fall had done nothing to upset her, she was paler than he was sure she would be normally, and after their recent steep climb there were beads of perspiration clinging to her brow. He offered her his immaculate clean linen hand-kerchief to wipe them away, and she accepted it with a small, grubby hand that shook a little as she carried it up to her face. Her clear golden-brown eyes remained anxious and uneasy.

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"I'd much rather go home . . ." she said, awkwardly. Suddenly he was so gentle that she couldn't believe

he was the same man. "Don't be foolish," he said, softly. "When you go

home you shall be driven in a car. I don't think you quite realize that you've had rather a nasty shock!"

"It was my own fault," she managed, her bottom lip trembling. And then she admitted huskily: "I'm terrified of large dogs."

He put her glass of sherry into her hand. "Drink that," he said, quietly. "The next time you

and Melissa meet I promise you she won't frighten you."

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CHAPTER THREE

IT seemed to Sue that she waited a very long time in the silence of that lovely room before von Speitz re-turned with his mother. And then all her worst fears were realized when she took her first look at the lady of the schloss.

And since it was his mother he had fetched, and there had been no mention of a wife, she gathered that she was the lady of the schloss.

She advanced a few paces into the room and stood looking in open surprise at Sue. She was a dainty, dim-inutive, exquisitely dressed woman, with beautifully-styled hair that was not even grey, and had a powdered gold appearance in the sunshine of the room. Whether or not it was treated with some special rinse Sue could only surmise, just as she could only half believe that the rose-leaf complexion was real and not applied. It was certainly aided by expensive cosmetics, but the over-all result was enough to send Sue's heart plum-meting down into the depths of her stomach. And the delicate but decided fragrance which the older woman brought with her made her uncomfortably aware of those beads of perspiration which were still trickling down from under her own disordered hair.

Behind this elegant apparition the slim, dark figure of her son loomed like a dark, but unhelpful shadow.

"My dear," the elderly lady began, advancing towards her with a show of some concern . . . "My son tells me that you have had an accident . . ?"

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Sue stood up at once, and practically denied that she had had anything of the kind.

"It's nothing," she asserted, "nothing at all! And I'm so sorry to trouble you . . ."

Von Speitz came to the rescue and made the neces-sary introduction.

"Miss Sue Warren," he enlightened his mother. "Miss Warren, my mother, the Grafin!"

The Grafin . . . Sue thought wildly that that was the equivalent of a countess, so von Speitz himself must be a count! She apologized even more volubly.

"There was really no need for your son to bring me up here. I'm afraid I'm just an ordinary common tres-passer . . ."

The Grafin's skilfully darkened eyebrows went up in much the same manner that her son's went up.

"I don't think it really matters what you are, my dear," she emphasized suavely, "so long as we can do something for you! Now, what about this lump on your head? I understand you hit a tree-trunk, or something of the sort?"

Sue submitted to the touch of petal-soft fingers, smelling deliciously of hand lotion, and literally loaded with rings. The one thing Sue was able to feel thankful about was the knowledge that her hair was unusually fine and soft, and by some stroke of genius she had washed it only the night before.

The lady of the schloss pressed lightly but exper-imentally, and it was obvious she had some knowledge of first-aid. Later on in their acquaintance Sue was to make the discovery that she had actually worked as a ward sister at one stage of her career, and that no doubt accounted for the coolness and detachment with which

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she approached the task of administering healing balm. She spoke in an aside to her son, and he pressed a

bell. Almost immeditely a servant answered it—not a carelessly-dressed servant, but one in a neat uniform of cap and apron—and an order was given for a bowl of ice to be brought. When it arrived Sue was pressed down in her chair and a series of cold compresses was applied to the painful side of her head, while her hostess talked to her in a bright and brittle manner about all sorts of things that had nothing whatever to do with mountain paths and suspicious dogs. Did she like Austria, and how long had she and her sister been in residence at the chalet? What a nice old thing Jeremy Warren had been, and how much they missed him! . . . Sue was quite certain that the Grafin von Speitz could have had absolutely nothing in common with Jeremy Warren, and even if her son entertained an affection for his memory she could have none. Two people with more opposite views on most things, she was reasonably certain, had seldom been born into this world, for the Grafin belonged to the sphere of elegance and diversion, and her uncle had loved nothing but his books.

With Austria, its lakes and its frozen peaks, as a kind of secondary love.

Conversation was made easy by the fact that the lady of the schloss spoke English with the same ease and effortlessness as her son—whom she addressed as Axel. She admitted that she liked London, but was much fonder of Paris . . . And she wanted to know whether Sue knew Paris at all well.

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"I'm afraid I've never been there," Sue answered. "But my sister spent six months in Paris about a year ago."

The Grafin seemed mildly interested. "She was, perhaps, studying the language?" she sug-

gested. "Or is she a student of some sort? An art student!" as if that was quite a pleasant thing to be.

Sue shook her head, and a sliver of ice became dis-lodged and slid down her neck.

"No, she was modelling clothes. She's a fashion model," she explained.

"Indeed?" The delicate brown eyebrows were up-raised again. "Then she must be very attractive?" Her tone inferred, 'and quite unlike her sister!'

"She's beautiful," Sue replied, simply, with a sort of reverence.

"Ach, so!" The countess's bright blue eyes exchanged looks with her son. "Then, we must ask her to dinner one night, Axel? And the fraulein here, of course!"

"At the moment I think the fraulein would prefer to be relieved of that load on her head," Axel returned dryly, observing how Sue had started to shiver a little, as a result of the ice that had found its way down her neck. "And if she could be provided with a dry frock, and given an opportunity to repair the ravages resulting from her experience in the wood, I'm sure she would be much happier. After that she will, of course, stay to lunch!"

His mother agreed after only the briefest hesitation. "But, of course, Miss Warren must stay to lunch!" Sue felt actually appalled. "I wouldn't dream of inflicting myself on you," she

assured them both, but the bell was once more pressed,

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the smart little maid received an order this time to fetch one of Fraulein Anneliese's dresses from her wardrobe, and although she almost pleaded to be allowed to go home and not cause them any more inconvenience, Sue found herself, in a matter of min-utes, conducted to one of the upstairs bedrooms and expected to make some alterations to her appearance.

The bedroom was obviously a guest room, and was extremely luxurious. It had a low French bed with a satin coverlet, a dressing-table loaded with toilet jars and flagons, and a magnificent view from all three of its windows: It also had a bathroom adjoining that was more like a bathroom in a fabulous stage-set; and the Austrian maid offered to turn on the taps for Sue if she would like a bath.

But Sue negatived this suggestion at once, anxious only to make her escape. She realized that she would have to change into the dress that had been provided, and she wondered whether Fraulein Anneliese—who-ever she was—would object very much at the temporary loan.

It was a slim-fitting tailored dress of heavy cream-coloured silk, and by a miracle it fitted Sue as if it had been made for her. The only thing that marred it, once she had brushed her hair and added a little light make-up to her face—since she had none of her own with her she had to take advantage of the prodigality on the dressing table—was the fact that she still had to wear her open-toed white sandals, and they had most cer-tainly not benefited from her experience in the wood.

When she went downstairs again the maid was waiting to conduct her to the drawing-room, and in her absence two other people had entered it and were

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sipping cocktails. One was a young woman of about her own age—who, incidentally, looked a little like her, although her eyes were blue, and her hair was several shades fairer—whom the countess introduced as her niece, Anneliese von Speitz, and the other was Anne-liese's brother, Fritz, a shatteringly good-looking young man with corn-gold hair and sky-blue eyes that instantly fastened on Sue, and coolly and calmly took in every detail of her appearance as she walked into the room.

Anneliese was wearing a silk shirt and jodhpurs, and as her brother was also dressed for riding it was ob-vious that they had been spending the morning getting a certain amount of exercise. Anneliese shook hands distantly, pretending not to recognize her own expen-sively simple dress that the other girl was wearing, and walked over to the side table where the drinks were arrayed and helped herself to another martini. But Fritz, when he shook hands, had plainly made up his mind that the English girl was unusual, if nothing else.

He probably didn't recognize his sister's dress, but the low neckline did a lot for Sue's prettily rounded throat, and her lightly tanned shoulders. And her hair was swinging against her neck in a kind of warm brown cloud, and embarrassment had brought a lot of colour to her cheeks. There was something velvety and peach-like about the perfect English complexion, and the shyness in her eyes lent them a timorous, doe-like look.

Fritz felt inclined to whistle, for he had been badly bored for the past fortnight, and now a spot of diversion was actually promised him.

"My aunt tells me that you have a sister, fraulein," he said, refusing to free her fingers until she gave them a gentle tug which demanded that he let them go. "If

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she is anything like you I hope we shall see a great deal of both of you! I understand that you are neighbours?"

The Graf spoke coldly, the expression of his eyes revealing plainly that he had very little time for his cousin.

"Will you have another drink, Miss Warren?" he asked. "Can I mix you a cocktail, or would you like another sherry?"

She refused without hesitation, and he saw that she was once more comfortably seated in a chair. In order to prevent Fritz taking up his position beside it and bothering the girl who was plainly confused enough already he stood beside it himself and talked to her until the booming of a gong in the hall proclaimed that luncheon was ready, and then he escorted her across the hall to the dining-room—actually, it struck her more like a banqueting hall when they first entered it —and placed her at his right hand at the long oak table.

If Sue had felt confused before, she now felt com-pletely overawed. Never in her life had she dreamed that she would lunch in so much state, in a centuries-old room of such splendid proportions she could have ad-mired them wholeheartedly if her mind had been at ease. But the very fact that her host's great, carved chair had the emblems of his house hewn into the wood just above his head, where the ornamental leatherwork ended, and that the table groaned with crested silver, and her fine damask napkin was adorned with a crest, also, drove home to her the enormity of the thing she had done that day. She had more or less forced them to invite her to lunch, and their natural aloofness was only partially softened by their desire to be polite to her. They were polite—almost excessively polite—but

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the Gratin's air of distinct condescension was enough to put Sue very thoroughly in her place, and the Graf's reserve made the long-drawn-out meal of several courses a kind of protracted agony she would have been grateful if she could have been spared.

Only the rather more casual condescension of Anne-liese, and the friendliness of Fritz, prevented her be-traying her nervousness, and her sensitive reaction to the knowledge that she was an unwanted guest Anna-liese allowed her aunt to lead the conversation, but she had an occasional forced smile for Sue, and Fritz was only too eager to be as attentive to Sue as she would allow him to be.

He guided her choice of dishes, and insisted that she drank a little hock with her fish . . . She was ap-palled, at first, by the array of glass on the table, and the number of wines that were served. She wanted to refuse anything at all to drink, but Fritz was amused by the very notion—which he obviously considered quaint —and topped up her glass when it was only partially lowered. Von Speitz intervened to prevent her drinking it if she didn't want to do so, and perversely she sud- _ denly felt easier with, and grateful to, him

An elderly manservant waited at table, and he was assisted by the girl who had fetched Anneliese's dress from the wardrobe. Afterwards coffee was brought to the salon—Sue realized she was quite wrong in thinking of it as an English drawing-room—and Anneliese sat gracefully before a little low table and an enormous silver tray burdened with some exquisite Sevres china and the coffee equipment and poured out for her aunt.

She was apparently only staying at the schloss for a short while, but there was an undoubted bond between

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her and the countess. She deferred to her constantly, and was always on the alert to fetch a cushion for her, or a footstool. The countess had many an affectionate smile for her, and Sue was a little surprised that her cousin, the count, appeared to have none at all.

Anneliese watched him constantly, and her light blue eyes were eager whenever she turned them towards him. It soon became perfectly plain to the outsider that her attitude towards him was not so much that of a reason-ably close relation, but of an ardent hound who would have curled herself up at his feet if she really had been a hound. And it apparently didn't trouble her at all that her devotion was obvious, and, so far as an onlooker could tell, unreturned.

Sue began to wonder whether the girl was in love with the Graf, and whether she hoped to marry him one day. It was quite obvious that his disability, and that livid scar on his cheek, meant nothing at all to her. And her aunt approved her attachment. That much it was easy to guess.

The only thing that was not easy to guess was the reason why Axel von Speitz seemed to have little love for any single member of his family, and why even to his mother he was formal and cold at times.

Freezingly cold, as if the blood in his veins was com-posed largely of ice, and nothing could ever melt it.

Out of the corner of her eyes Sue watched the clock, and wondered how soon she dared suggest that she would like to return home. The shaky feeling that had followed her fall had departed now, and she was quite certain she could walk home with ease if they would only permit her. But the count had said something about sending her home in a car.

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She began to feel more and more agitated, more and more convinced that this kind of an adventure was not really the kind that appealed to her. Velda would have loved it, of course . . . She would have loved every min-ute of it. And since she was so attractive, and had poise and confidence and everything that was necessary to narrow the gulf between her—socially, that is—and these people, they would probably have accepted her, and even taken pleasure in her society.

The countess had said something about inviting her to dinner, but Sue hoped she would forget it. Not even for Velda's sake would she wish to repeat such an experience as this.

At last Axel looked across at her. He rose, and made her one of his formal little half-bows.

"If you are ready to return home, Miss Warren, I will order the car," he said, in his quiet, clipped tones, and went away to do the ordering before she could protest that she would much prefer to walk back to the chalet on her own two legs.

Fritz was very regretful when he had to say good-bye—although his Auf wiedersehen, she felt certain, didn't really mean goodbye—and the Grafin merely smiled in a relieved fashion. She assured Sue that she was delighted to have met her, and hoped her head would soon be entirely free from soreness, said nothing more about inviting her and her sister to dinner, and then offered the pale, cool fingers of one of her be-ringed hands.

"In future, my dear," she remarked, with a rather more meaning smile, "I should be careful where you take your walks. Unless you are used to mountain

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country it is always a good plan to stick to the estab-lished roads."

Sue's cheeks were burning a little when she joined her host on the drive that swept right up to the great main door. A long, glittering car with a Rolls-Royce bonnet was waiting to convey her back to the chalet, and a uniformed chauffeur was at the wheel. Her host opened the door for her himself and put her into the back of the car. On the pale grey seat an enormous bouquet of roses and other garden flowers was waiting to be admired, and when Sue first saw them she uttered a little exclamation of delight. Von Speitz looked down at her with a tiny smile curving his lips.

"The flowers you picked this morning are all dead by now," he told her, "so I thought I would replace them with some others. They haven't the charm of wild flowers, but they do last longer in water. Goodbye, Miss Warren!"

She gave him her hand, and her hazel-brown eyes were full of gratitude. There was so much gratitude in them that they glowed like golden flowers.

"I—I don't know how to thank you . . ." she man-aged, at last.

"Then, don't," he returned, and shut the car door on her.

As it started to move away along the curving drive she lowered the window and called out to him.

"I won't forget to return your cousin's dress!" He merely waved a hand . . . the one good hand at-

tached to his one good arm. She thought that he looked very slim and upright standing alone on the drive, very distinguished, very elegant, very handsome—despite that angry scar he would never get rid of. And yet, at

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th e same time, his empty sleeve, flapping a little in a light breeze that had sprung up, stamped him as vul-nerable.

She remembered that while they were having lunch the elderly manservant had watched over him as if he was a child, and that although he seemed to require little assistance it was an obvious effort for him to deal with awkward portions of meat, and he refused to allow anyone to light a cigarette for him.

Plainly, he was an obstinate, perhaps even a difficult man, but the old manservant loved him, Anneliese loved him, his mother smiled at him and humoured him . . . but he was very much alone. He lived in an unapproachable world of his own, and if he ever deser-ted it and fell in love—if he ever married!—he would only have one arm to hold the woman he loved close to him!

Sue felt as if her face actually turned fiery red as she thought this thought, and she picked up her bouquet of flowers and buried it amongst them.

At least she had some proof of her day to show to Velda. But she was very much afraid Velda would be bitterly resentful because her day had been spent with Charles Denby, and not His Excellency the Herr Graf von Speitz.

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CHAPTER FOUR

SHE could not have been more right about Velda. She returned from her outing with Charles Denby in

no very good frame of mind, and was astonished to learn that instead of having an absolutely uneventful day Sue had been selected for the one really exciting experience of their trip to Austria so far.

She was amazed that Sue, instead of fully appre-ciating her good fortune, declared that she had been horribly embarrassed by it.

"In fact, I've never been so embarrassed in my life," the younger sister asserted, while Velda examined the white dress carefully for hallmarks of its quality.

"Ah, there you are!" she exclaimed, when she had found the label she expected to find. "Paris! . . . Only a French designer could turn out a dress like that. And it almost certainly cost the earth . . . deceptively simple and fantastically expensive! And you say this girl, An-neliese von Speitz, isn't very much to look at?"

"I'm not sure that I said that, exactly," Sue replied, unable to remember quite what her first reaction had been to Anneliese's appearance. "I wouldn't say that she's striking, but she has an air of breeding, and she's quite pleasing to look at. Yes, I think a lot of people would decide that she's pretty."

"Mere prettiness gets you nowhere," Velda declared contemptuously, attaching the white silk dress to a han-ger and placing it reverently in the wardrobe. "Pretti-ness and cleverness can travel a long way . . . Prettiness and charm might get you somewhere. But prettiness and

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breeding . . ." She shrugged. "Would you say the Graf knows that his mother wants him to marry his cousin?"

Sue felt curiously dismayed by this astute interpre-tation of the one or two hints she had thrown out concerning the Grafin's attachment to her niece.

"I don't know . . . I don't even know that she does want him to marry his cousin."

Velda sat down on the end of her sister's bed and clasped her arms about her drawn-up knees. To think that she had been wasting her time in Innsbruck while Sue had been having this wonderful adventure! . . . Meeting all the right people, lunching in an atmosphere of opulence and exclusiveness,' arriving home in a Rolls-Royce, and not really appreciating one single minute of it all!

She caught a glimpse of herself in the dressing-table mirror, and she knew with deadly certainty that if only it had been she . . . If only the Fates had been kind, and picked her for the adventure, she would by this time have had the Graf eating out of her hand, and his mother would probably have insisted that he accom-panied her on the journey home, not merely sent her home with a bunch of cut flowers!

Sue had selected a few of the flowers and placed them in a vase on her dressing-table, and the bedroom was sweet with the delicacy of their perfume. But Sue hadn't the least idea how to handle men, or even how to appreciate them . . . She had come home and ironed a couple of cotton frocks, and helped Freda top and tail some gooseberries for a tart for supper, and probably never given another thought to the highlights of her day. Not until Velda herself came home and had to be informed of them.

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Whereas, if it had been she, Velda . . . She knelt on the foot of the bed and swept her hair to the top of her head, where it shone like red-gold satin in the reflected light from the mirror and the sunset. If it had been she she would have already been devising a completely new hair-style for the next meeting, and the contents of her wardrobe would have been flung out over her bed, the backs of the chairs—everywhere--so that she could select carefully and thoughtfully the most suitable item it contained to delight the eyes of the count when she saw him again.

She preferred the sound of the word Count to Graf, and she decided that she would address him as Count when she met him . . . And of course she would meet him! Why, hadn't his mother...?

She flung round on her sister. "Didn't you say that the countess was interested in

the idea of my being a model? And that she said some-thing about inviting us both to dinner! . . ."

"Yes, but I hope she doesn't . . . I sincerely hope she doesn't!" Sue replied.

Velda shook her head at her. "You must be mad. You are presented with a won-

derful opportunity to meet socially people who repre-sent the top class of society in a romantic country like Austria, and all you can say is that you hope they'll forget all about you, and you'll never have to see them again! And that on top of hearing about a house in Vienna, as well as a castle in the mountains!"

She started to pace up and down the room, as if excitement had her in its grip.

"What about returning the frock? You'll have to re-turn it, of course . . . I could return it for you!"

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But Sue was quite horrified by the suggestion. "You'll do nothing of the sort," she said, hastily.

"Freda will do that for me. I've already asked her to return it for me."

Velda conceded that perhaps that was as well. "It might look a little bit—well, pushing, if I hired a

taxi and drove up to the castle gates in it! And I cer-tainly wouldn't climb up through the woods." Suddenly she was amused by the mental image of her sister, surrounded by stolen wild flowers, picking herself up and dusting herself down and apologizing for being a trespasser. And wearing pink linen that was at least two seasons out of fashion! "Darling, you really will have to buy yourself some new clothes," she remarked, as Sue sat curled up at the opposite end of the bed and ran a buffer over her nails instead of using nail varnish which would have had more satisfactory results. She was wearing shortie pyjamas which Velda herself had more or less flung at her in a fit of generosity, and she looked like a brown-haired little girl in the vivid sunset light which was bathing the high peaks outside the window. A brown-haired little girl with a slight lump under her hair, which was still very sore!

Velda, who was very fond of her, sat beside her on the bed and gave her shoulders a slight squeze.

"I shouldn't worry about today, poppet, if I were you," she said. "I don't suppose the count even noticed what you were wearing. If he's the sort of man you've described it would have to be someone quite out of this world—" again a swift glance at herself in the mirror —"to impress him. But I'll tell you what I'll do. If we're to meet this family socially, you'll have to be properly dressed, and I'll go through my things tomorrow and see

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what I can dispense with and hand over to you. There are bound to be at least a couple of frocks I can do without—"

But Sue protested. "I don't want to meet them socially! Whatever you

want, I don't want to meet them socially!" She could see quite clearly the Grafin's handsome, bright blue eyes surveying her, and she knew full well that they had been full of condescension. And then, for one tantalizing moment, she saw the Graf, as he bent a little down to her and took her hand at parting. When he smiled he had beautifully even white teeth.

"The flowers you picked this morning are all dead by now," he had said, "so I thought I would replace them with some others. They haven't the charm of wild flowers, but they do last longer in water . . ."

And then she saw his empty sleeve flapping as she drove away.

"Velda," she said quickly, almost urgently, "the Graf is a man with a disability. He has only one arm, and I know he's very conscious of the scar on his cheek. He isn't the sort of man to—to flirt with .. ."

Velda smiled at her. "Who said anything about flirting?" she murmured.

"I've got to marry sometime, and — well, you did say he was fond of Uncle Jeremy, didn't you? And I'm Uncle Jeremy's favourite niece! The deeds of this chalet are made out in my name, you know! You have a right to stay here whenever you want to, but it's my chalet . . ."

Sue, who had never properly examined the deeds of the chalet, was surprised by this.

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For the next two days she lived in constant dread of a sudden visitation from the schloss. Although she was perfectly certain in her own mind that the Grafin von Speitz had no intention whatsoever of inviting either her or her sister to dine at the schloss, there was always the danger that—as a result of a sudden whim—she might invite them. She had seemed oddly intrigued when Sue mentioned that Velda was a model, but the Graf had been quite unresponsive when she suggested the dinner invitation.

Very likely he disliked dinner parties . . . Or—and this was much more likely—he liked to be on familiar terms with the people he invited to dinner. He liked to be absolutely certain they were the kind of people he could spend an evening with without feeling either bored, or constrained to be pleasant against his will, since a host's first duty is to be pleasant. Even when his guests are not out of the same social top-drawer as himself.

Sue very carefully packed up the white dress that had been loaned to her, and Freda returned it to the schloss. There was no acknowledgment of the dress, and as the days passed Sue began to breathe more freely, although Velda looked positively frustrated when it began to be more or less clear that the family at the schloss had no desire to establish friendly relations with the two Miss Warrens at the chalet.

Velda declared she couldn't understand it. According to her line of reasoning it wasn't even polite to half issue an invitation, and then do nothing about it.

"That young man, Fritz," she said, recalling him. "I thought he sounded quite a likely character. You said he was much more attentive to you than anybody else

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and therefore he must have been mildly interested in you. Possibly, quite attracted . . • You're the sort of girl some men would find attractive," she conceded. "So why hasn't he taken the trouble to look us up? We are, after all, not much more than a stone's throw from the castle gates!"

Sue looked surprised, and then slightly apprehensive. "I should dislike it very much if he came here," she

returned. "I wasn't very much impressed by either him or his sister . . . But he was certainly nicer to me than his sister was. I'm afraid she didn't like the look of those shabby old sandals of mine at all."

Velda made an impatient gesture. "Why do you wear such decrepit footwear?" she

demanded. "You're not so hard up that you can't afford decent footwear. And some of those old cotton frocks of yours ought to be done up in a parcel and despatched to a refugee camp." That provided her with an idea. "If you like to come along , with me to my room I'll see what I can find you in my wardrobe. Just supposing—and I haven't given up hope yet, believe me!--we do receive an invitation to dine at the schloss, I don't want to be made to feel uncomfortable because my sister looks as if she ought to be dining with the staff, instead of a count and countess."

Sue was afraid she was wilfully deceiving herself about her chances of one day seeing the inside of the Schloss Speitz, but she accompanied her to her room and accepted with humble gratitude a Nile green chiffon dress with a swathed bodice and a short, floating, rather enchanting skirt, a pair of bronze evening slippers to go with it, and a couple of patterned silk dresses that could be worn either in the evening, or for day wear.

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She felt a little rueful as she held these garments in her arms, for it wasn't that she didn't like attractive clothes as much as any other girl of her age; but Velda earned far more in a week than she earned in a fortnight, and in addition Velda was able to acquire model clothes at rock-bottom prices when by some mischance they had become slightly soiled, or were not quite up to the standard their designers expected of them.

And shoes, hats and underwear were an obsession with her, and her drawers and her wardrobe shelves were crammed with them. In a sudden burst of almost violent generosity she flung a pair of beautifully-cut navy-blue slacks at Sue, and a soft white sweater to go with them.

"Wear those when you next decide to go exploring somebody's woods," she called, as Sue left the room. "Then perhaps we'll get an invitation to afternoon tea, if not to dinner!"

A week slipped away, and then nearly a fortnight. Velda had resigned herself to being snubbed by her uncle's old friend . . . 'Old friend!' she scoffed, when she was feeling particularly rebellious. "Do you suppose Uncle Jeremy ever saw the inside of the schloss? If he did, I'll bet it was the servants' quarters! I expect His Excellency gives a staff ball once a year, and invited him up for it!"

She made up her mind she could no longer afford to waste her time in Austria, in addition to which she was becoming deathly bored by mountain scenery. It was all very well in its way . . . If you were the owner of a centuries-old castle, and could leave it at any time in a high-powered car that could whisk you away to Vienna, or at least to the railhead. But she had to earn her

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living, and unlike Sue—who also had to earn her living!—she didn't wish to vegetate. And Sue had no urgent commitments to return to, so it was perfectly all right for her to stay on in the chalet for another few weeks.

Velda suddenly remembered—which was a relief to Sue, since she did all the shopping and cooking and housework in the London flat—that she had promised a girl friend that she could stay with them for a few weeks while looking for a flat of her own, and that meant that she could have Sue's bed if Sue stayed on in the chalet. The fact that Sue, once Freda had departed for the day, would be alone in the chalet, struck neither of them as a disadvantage . . . certainly not Sue, who was so obsessed by the splendour of the sunsets and the dawns, the beauty of the mountain days, that she would willingly have sacrificed even Freda's excell-ent cooking, and her somewhat silent companionship, for an opportunity to stay on in the little wooden house with its view across the whole wide width of the valley.

Having arrived at the decision to depart, Velda packed her things and ordered the local taxi to take her to the nearest railhead. The day before the taxi was due to collect her she gave herself an impressive beauty treatment, which included washing her hair and lac-quering her nails with a delicate, pearly nail varnish, and she issued strict instructions to both Sue and Freda that she was not to be disturbed in any circumstances until the whole process was completed. She was anxious to get rid of her disfiguring tan . . . According to her tan was not an asset when you were employed to model bridal garments, and fragile evening wear. And, in any

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case, it didn't really suit her, not with her delectable white skin and that wonderful red-gold hair.

So she took the additional precaution of locking her door, and Sue went out into the garden and decided to help Freda with some fruit-picking. The raspberries were coming along splendidly, and she took a basket and started along one of the rows, a battered straw hat jammed down on her head to protect it from the sun, and a pair of very short shorts, revealing how beauti-fully tanned her own slim legs were by this time.

As nobody ever came near them it didn't matter how she looked, she thought, popping a raspberry into her mouth ... and it was at that very moment that the sleek and shining Rolls-Royce drew up silently outside the gate.

Oh, no! . . . she thought, hoping the raspberry juice hadn't stained her teeth. And casting the straw hat from her head on to a pile of manure that was intended for the fertilization of the garden when the soft fruit season was over, she advanced with the utmost diffi-dence to welcome the man who had stepped from the car.

It was Axel von Speitz himself, and he was wearing a light grey perfectly tailored suit, and an Old Etonian tie. He was also looking completely cool and composed, whereas she had just begun to feel uncomfortably hot, there was a stain at one corner of her mouth, and her hands were grubby and sticky.

Thinking the only thing to do was to wipe them on her shorts, she did so, and then offered her hand. The Graf took it and, considerably to her astonishment retained it for a slightly longer period than seemed strictly necessary.

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His dark, inscrutable eyes had a flicker of a smile in them as he gazed down at her.

"I don't need to ask whether you've recovered from that little incident in my woods, Miss Warren," he murmured. "You're looking splendidly fit and brown . . . As brown as a berry as I believe you say in Eng-land!"

She flushed brightly. "According to my sister, it is very unfashionable to

have a tanned appearance," she replied. She opened the gate for him to precede her up the path. "Won't you—won't you come in?" she asked. She added hastily, "Herr Graf!"

His smile broadened a little. "Of course I'm coming in. I particularly want to

apologize for being so tardy in coming to enquire after your health, and also to return this." He held out a neat parcel which she discovered later contained her pink linen frock, beautifully laundered and ironed. "You left it behind at the schloss."

"Oh, but you needn't have bothered!" Her colour grew brighter than ever. "And as for my health .. . Well, as you've just said, I could hardly be looking fitter!"

"For which I am very thankful." They stood in the middle of the path, and his eyes were deep and grave again. "That was a very nasty bump you had on the side of your head, and it could have been very painful. My mother was very much concerned that you should have acquired it in our woods. She has asked me to express her concern, and also to offer her apologies for this long delay in getting in touch with you. The truth

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is that we had a sudden, urgent call to Vienna, and I'm afraid we have only just returned."

"Oh, but I never expected . . ." Sue began to flounder. "I mean, of course I didn't expect . . . The accident was nothing, and it was my own fault, any-way." She twisted her hands together, awkwardly. "It would have served me right if your dog Melissa had mauled me a bit, instead of being so beautifully well-behaved when she found me on the ground!"

"If she had mauled you, I—' He broke off, but the line of his jaw struck her as hard and set. "Well, she wouldn't have had an opportunity to do it again."

Sue felt slightly aghast. "You don't mean that you would have had her . . .?" "Destroyed, no. But banished, yes!" He glanced towards the house. "May I be invited in, please? I know this little chalet

quite well. I've dined here with your uncle on quite a number of occasions, and I frequently dropped in to have a chat with him. He was a man with a cultured mind that I admired."

Sue felt as if she had been guilty of outrageous con-duct keeping him standing on the path, and she turned hurriedly and led the way into the house, apologizing for the slight clutter when they entered the living-room.

"But my sister is leaving tomorrow, and she's in the process of packing her things. I'm afraid we're not very tidy packers, either of us."

He stood frowning and looking at the room—which, despite a surface untidiness struck him as very feminine, and quite pleasing to the eye. A bowl of roses stood in the centre of the big table in the corner—all Austrian

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chalets have a kind of dining-alcove in a corner—and he wondered whether they could possibly be survivors of the bunch he had given her.

Sue confessed shyly: "I have kept them alive with aspirin. But I'm afraid they're almost finished now."

He sat down in a corner of a settee, having first waved her to the opposite corner, and given a hitch to his carefully creased trousers to prevent any slight bagging of their impeccable lines.

"Miss Warren—" he was still frowning a little—"did you say that your sister is leaving?"

Sue clasped her hands round her slim, tanned knees, and nodded.

"Yes, tomorrow. She's going back to London to get on with her job. She's a model, you know, and very much sought after. She has plenty of work, and can't really afford to go on holidaying here. Even although, of course, she likes it," not wishing him to get the wrong impression of Velda.

The little cleft between his brows refused to leave them.

"And who will keep you company here in the chalet?" he asked. "Freda, I know, has a family in the village that demand much of her attention, and it used to be her custom to leave about midday. Does she still do that?"

"Yes, after she's prepared the lunch and concocted something for our evening meal. I could do all the cooking myself it it weren't for the fact that I know she values the job here, and my uncle's will made it clear that she was to be kept on. But it doesn't seem very fair to her, with a family of her own to look after, to

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have to toil up here from the village every morning in order to look after us as well."

Whether or not the count saw this aspect of Freda's involved daily life Sue was unable to tell, for his ex-pression conveyed an impression of lightly aloof blank-ness; but her own solitary occupation of the chalet seemed to provide him with food for thought. He declined to allow the subject to drop.

"Is it absolutely essential for your sister tb return in the middle of such a beautiful month as June usually is in the mountains? As a matter of fact, I have an invitation for the two of you to dine with us one night this week . . . Or we hoped you would both dine with us. But, if you are going to be alone here—"

Sue felt momentarily alarmed, and then instantly re-lieved.

"As Velda's going away, there wouldn't be much point in your asking me to—to have dinner at the schloss?" she remarked a trifle naively. "W-would there?"

His eyebrows ascended, and a quizzical look in-vaded his eyes.

"Indeed, no?" he said. "And why should that be the case, I wonder? When you had lunch, with us the other day did you find it so unpleasant—so much of an or-deal, perhaps!—that you would prefer not to risk the experiment again?"

Instantly colour flooded her face—brilliant, scald-ing colour. She denied hurriedly that any such inter-pretation should be placed on her observation; but as she couldn't add that she would like nothing more than to dine at the schloss the smile in his eyes became a positive twinkle.

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"Was it my mother who alarmed you? Was it either of my two cousins? Or was it simply myself?" Then his eyes softened miraculously, and he laid his hand for an instant over one of hers. The warmth of it, the strength and vitality, seemed to penetrate her skin and actually steal a little way up her arm, in the form of queer little vibrant thrills. "You were very much confused that day," he said understandingly, "and I don't think it was fair to ask you to remain to lunch. Having to wear a borrowed dress was bad enough, but to have to meet two of my cousins, and enter into conversation when your head was probably paining you, was too much. I thought so afterwards, and I hoped you would forgive our lack of perception."

"Oh, but you were most kind," she assured him, wondering whether he had forgotten that his hand was still resting lightly over her own, and not quite certain whether it was up to her to withdraw her fingers. "You couldn't have been kinder—neither you nor your mother . . ."

And it was at that very moment that the door opened and Velda appeared in the living-room. Al-though she had insisted on being left alone for the en-tire afternoon, and the special face-pack she had pro-posed using took half-an-hour to remove, quite apart from the length of time it took to set, she had never looked more beauiful in the whole of her life. Her skin had the delicacy of a drift of apple blossom, and her hair was almost Titian in its loveliness. She wore only very lightly applied make-up—a touch of eyeshadow, a mere hint of pale coral lipstick. And her fingertips were pale coral instead of pearl.

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Her dress was a clear ice-blue, and with it she wore white accessories. A wide white belt that emphasized her incredibly slender waist, white shoes, a white rib-bon restraining her hair, and lending her a slightly nun-like appearance. In fact, there was something al-most puritanical about her neatness . . . And Sue won-dered what had happened to her jangling bracelets, the colossal ear-rings she loved to attach to her ears, and the slim gold chain she even wore about her ankle.

She stood very still inside the doorway, and her delicate eyebrows flew up in surprise. She appeared slightly stunned to find herself confronted by a slender man in a grey suit—whose empty sleeve riveted almost instant attention—as he stood up and accorded her a most punctilious bow.

"Sue—" her eyes appealed to her sister, as if she simply couldn't think who the visitor was, and a Rolls-Royce out-side the gate merely added to her perplex-ity—"will you be so good as to—to introduce us . . .?"

"Of course." Sue leapt hastily to her feet, almost prepared to believe in this wonderful piece of play-acting . . . For if Velda hadn't had a very clear idea who their visitor was, why had she sacrificed her face-pack, and why had she gone in for such a severely simple style of dressing? If it wasn't to impress! "This is my sister, Velda, Herr Graf . . . Velda, His Excel-lency the Herr Graf von Speitz!"

His Excellency bowed again. "I am delighted to meet you, fraulein," he said. He

held out his hand to her, that hand that had been gen-tly covering one of Sue's small, fruit-stained hands at the moment of her entry. "And it is a great disappoint-

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ment to me to hear that you are thinking of leaving us so soon!"

Velda, who managed to flush naturally—an en-chanting flush that merely disappeared delicately under her hair, instead of staining her ears and throat as Sue's blushes often did—actually appeared as-tounded at the same time.

"Leaving you, Herr Graf?" she stammered in as-tonishment. "But, what on earth gave you that idea? Sue—" she glanced reproachfully at her sister—"you haven't been putting wrong ideas into the count's head, have you? Just because I said that sooner or later I would have to return to London, and leave this heavenly place behind, you've been jumping to con-clusions and getting rid of me out of hand. As if I would leave you here alone when you do such outrage-ous things if the opportunity is presented you, like breaking into the count's woods! .. "

She apologized prettily to the visitor for her sister's weaknesses.

"Sue is really a gipsy at heart, Herr Graf, and she loves to be unconventional. It doesn't matter to her what she looks like, so long as she's happy. Otherwise she wouldn't be looking as she's looking now," frown-ing in distaste at Sue's stained hands, her ruffled hair and too short shorts. (He wasn't to know, of course, that they had once been her own too short shorts!) "And those ghastly old open-toed sandals! . . . Sue really!"

The Graf looked a little curiously at Sue, almost as if he was really seeing her for the first time, or was attempting to get her into true perspective. And Sue was so taken aback by her sister's attitude that she could

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say nothing . . . not even point out that it was a foolish thing to pick raspberries in anything but a set of your oldest clothes.

"Well, I'm greatly relieved to hear you're not going away yet, Miss Warren," von Speitz told her, abandon-ing the study of the younger sister in favour of the completely delightful and absolutely correct one the older provided. "For one thing, I should have disliked to think that Miss—Sue, is it?" smiling at her faintly. "Or ought I to say Susan?"

"Susannah," Sue heard herself correct him awkward- ly.

"Miss Susannah, then, was going to be left alone here in the chalet, which is in a fairly isolated position. And for another, we want you both to dine with us this week, if you have nothing more important on hand," his smile developing a definite tinge of humour, as if he was fairly well aware that an invitation to the schloss was scarcely likely to be passed over in favour of some other from a lesser quarter.

Certainly not when the recipient was a well balanced young woman such as Miss Velda Warren struck him most decidedly as being!

Now that it had come at last, Velda felt almost weak at the knees with sheer gratitude.

"Oh, but that's wonderful!" she heard herself de-clare a little faintly. "Sue has told me so much about the interior of your beautiful castle that I can barely wait to see it! I know she hadn't any right to be so privileged the other day, but I shall simply adore being shown over it, and I hope you'll explain all the archi-tectural features to me. I don't pretend to be an his-torian, but I love old buildings."

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"In that case you should love the schloss," the count observed, just a trifle dryly. "It goes back at least seven hundred years to our certain knowledge."

Velda appeared to be almost overcome by this piece of information, and Sue—who knew that she would be hard put to it to recognize even a well authenticated Georgian building in her own homeland—suggested hurriedly to the count that perhaps he would like a cup of tea. It was nearly four o'clock, and teatime, and it wouldn't take her a minute to put the kettle on.

"That's very kind of you," he said, as if the idea ap-pealed at him at once. "Normally, I don't take tea, but I should love some this afternoon . . . English tea!" he added, smiling at her in such a way that she instantly forgot how humiliated she had felt, a few minutes be-fore, when Velda drew attention to her dishevelled ap-pearance. (One of these days, she vowed secretly, he should see her as she could look when she took a little trouble with herself, and her clothes were right.)

"That's quite a clever idea, darling," Velda ap-proved, also smiling at her sweetly. "And while you're setting the tray don't forget that iced sponge I made this morning, and some of Freda's biscuits."

Sue departed for the kitchen feeling slightly be-mused, for it was she who had made the iced sponge-Velda, so far as she was aware, had never made a cake in her life, or even wanted to do so. And now, all at once, instead of the glamorous model, she was a delightfully demure young woman, who didn't despise the kitchen!

It didn't make sense to Sue. By the time the kettle boiled, and the tray was set,

a full ten minutes had elapsed since she left the living-

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room, and when she returned the pair who were oc-cupying the settee appeared to have taken advantage of the opportunity to get to know one another. Velda was looking bright-eyed and delicately flushed, and she was smoking one of the count's cigarettes and pretend-ing it was just a little strong for her. Axel von Speitz was looking almost animated, and there was quite a gay note in his laugh as he turned to Sue and accused her of painting quite a false picture of her sister while she was at the schloss.

"You told us she was a beautiful model." He turned back to Velda and inclined his sleek dark head before her. "and, of course she is—very beautiful! But she is also many things besides that have nothing to do with modelling. She cooks, she gardens, she sews—she even makes many of her own clothes! She is interested in world affairs . . . "

Sue nearly dropped the tray, and he sprang hastily to her rescue.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I didn't realize you were carrying that heavy thing alone." He bit his lip for a moment. "What a pity you can't have Freda in the afternoons."

"There's no need," Velda said quickly, taking her place before the tray and beginning to pour out as if she did it every afternoon of her life, instead of always delegating the duty to Sue. "We manage beautifully by ourselves, and I even say sometimes that we manage better without Freda." She poised the sugar-tongs. "Two lumps, Count?"

"Thank you," he returned. His eyes went to Sue. Whilst waiting for the kettle to boil she had seized the opportunity to wash her face and hands, comb her

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hair and attach a pink ribbon to it to keep it back out of her eyes, and in her white shorts, and with her light-ly tanned skin, she made a sufficiently pleasing picture to merit his sudden attention. "You look like a little girl, fraulein," he remarked, "who is playing at being a little boy!"

And as she looked into his eyes it seemed to her that they glowed at her rather than smiled.

Velda sighed. "If only Sue would grow up!" she remarked. "But

perhaps she will one day!" She tried to insist on the visitor sampling a piece of sponge, but all he did was accept a cup of tea, and then he glanced first at his watch, and then at the clock on the mantelpiece, and announced that he must take his leave.

Velda said excitedly to Sue: "The Graf has insisted that we dine with them to-

morrow night, and I have agreed, of course. He is sending a car for us at a quarter to eight. Isn't it some-thing to look forward to?"

"Of course," Sue answered, dealing with a crumb that had alighted on her knee, but when she glanced at von Speitz this time his expression was somewhat different. It was even a little wry.

"And if you decide that you would rather not come at the last moment, Fraulein Sue, I shall send the car back for you, and back again until you do come! Is that quite clearly understood?"

Sue felt her face and her neck flushing brilliantly as he took her hand. His whimsical expression was so un-like anything she had seen on his face while she was at the schloss that she even wondered for a moment whether he was the same man.

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Then her eyes dropped to his empty sleeve, and re-turned to fix themselves on the livid scar on his cheek.

She said, a little breathlessly: "Of course I'll come. I'll ... love to come!" When Velda returned from escorting him out to his

car—and, as the elder sister, she felt that she had that right—her expression was so nakedly gleeful, and satis-fied that it even revolted Sue a little. She was hugging herself with her slim bare arms, and she executed a little dance about the room.

"What a triumph," she declared, "what a triumph! And to think he's even sending his car for us!" Then she sobered a little, and glanced at Sue.' "You didn't tell me he was so . . . handsome! Even with the scar, and without the arm, he's the most fascinating man I've met for a long time, and what is more he really looks the part. His Excellency, Herr Axel von Speitz!"

She selected a cigarette from the cigarette-box on the table—far stronger than anything the count smoked—and lighted, it.

"Axel! . . . I even like his name!" Sue prepared to carry the tray out to the kitchen. So

far she hadn't said a word. Velda called her back. "Honey, what's biting you? Aren't you thrilled

we're now on visiting terms with the schloss? Think of that handsome boy, Fritz! Maybe you'll see him again!"

Sue returned and set the tray down again on the little round table.

"Why did you pretend you're all the things you're not?" she demanded, a little curtly. "Isn't it enough to

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be a glamorous model, without posing as a model of femininity as well?"

Velda exhaled smoke languidly, and smiled into her eyes.

"Darling, you're not a bit subtle," she remarked. "The count can meet glamorous models any day of the week, but a glamorous model who is also the perfect housewife . . . Oh, no! And, besides, I rather fancied the role. I'm getting a little tired of being thought Bo-hemian, and ultra-modern, and so on. I'd much rather be thought a perfect female!"

Sue looked down at the tea tray. "And why did you have to blacken me in his eyes?

Make him think I'm a sort of a—an amiable halfwit! An overgrown schoolgirl? The fact that I don't turn myself into a clothes-horse every day doesn't mean I'm anything of the kind!"

Velda exhaled smoke still more languidly. "No?" she said. Then she spoke more briskly even

with a sharp note of reproof in her voice. "You may not be an amiable halfwit, my dear, but you're a bit of a schemer! You didn't want your precious Axel to see me, did you? When I came into the room he was practically holding your hand . . . And that, I'll con-fess, slightly stunned me! But, needless to say, after he saw me! . . . Well, darling, I'm afraid you haven't got a chance," she said softly crushing her cigarette out in the ash tray. "And even if I thought you had, I wouldn't let you get away with it . . . now!"

"You mean," Sue enquired quietly, without meeting her eyes, "that you're not going back to London after all?"

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Velda walked to the window and flung it wide. She leaned out and rested her eyes dreamily on the peak across the valley.

"No, my sweet, I'm not going back to London.. . Not yet. I'm going to stay right here in Austria!"

CHAPTER FIVE

WHEN the car called for them the following evening they were neither of them in a completely unruffled state of mind. Sue was full of nervous apprehension, and Velda was agitated because she couldn't feel ab-solutely certain that the frock she had chosen was the right one for the occasion.

It was of white brocade with a silver thread running through it, and Sue thought her sister looked almost too beautiful as she walked out to the car. With her admirable poise and the svelte lines of her figure, her burnished hair and the faint air of disdain which she had cultivated for the cameras, she looked as if a whole battery of cameras ought to be trained on her as she made herself comfortable in the back of the car, and glanced aloofly about her to add to the illusion that this was nothing at all to her, and Rolls-Royces were her usual means of travel.

But as soon as Sue took her place beside her, and the chauffeur closed the partition which separated them, she began to mutter anxiously in an undertone.

"I'm not at all sure that these jade ear-rings were a wise decision. Pearl studs might have been better, or a simple row of pearls and no ear-rings at all. But this

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dress is really rather much, and I didn't want to overdo it. Of course, I could have worn black—"

"You look absolutely perfect as you are," Sue as-sured her; and added: "I wish I felt as perfect myself."

Velda glanced at her. "That green dress suits you. . . It really does. That

particular shade of green does something for your hair, and as you're so tanned you look a little like a wood-nymph. A very well groomed wood-nymph," she con-ceded.

"It's a little tight under the arms," Sue complained uneasily, hoping the Nile green chiffon would not come apart at the seams before the evening was over. Velda was so thin—almost painfully thin in a harsh, unattrac-tive light—that her clothes didn't always fit the younger sister, who was somewhat plumper, although able to boast—if she wanted to do so—of an enchant-ingly demure waistline.

The car tunnelled through the woods and climbed steadily to the schloss. It was an evening of singular beauty, still and serene, and warm with the stored warmth of the day. Through gaps in the trees they could see the sun setting across the valley, and the pink candy-floss light on the high peaks. There was very little snow lying there now, on those aloof shoul-ders of rock, but the little there was sparkled like dia-mond-dust against the deep colour of the sky. An early star seemed to be caught up in the branches of a coni-fer, and Sue peered at it eagerly as they swept beneath the trees, feeling a slight envy of its freedom and iso-lation away up there in that palpitating blueness.

But Velda was more concerned with the smooth movement of the car, and the many intriguing gadgets

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that she was able to observe in the half-light. She sat clutching her silver brocade purse handbag, admiring the sheen on her nails out of the corners of her eyes, and willing the evening to be a success . . . A one hun-dred per cent success, which it had to be, or so she told hersefl!

When the car stopped on the gravel sweep before the schloss their host came out to greet them. By that time a young crescent of a moon had sailed into the sky, and Velda looked like a slender white wraith with a pale shimmer on her hair as he gave her his hand to help her alight. He must have caught the fragrance of her gardenia perfume as she swayed close to him for a moment, and he certainly looked down at her from his superior height with rather an intent look for a mo-ment.

Then he assisted Sue to alight, and although she was also wearing perfume it was more like a faint breath from the heart of the woods which she exuded as her chiffon skirts swirled a little.

Von Speitz was in a dinner-jacket, and in the vel-vety dusk on the terrace his linen was almost startlingly white. By contrast with it his dark face, and darker hair, were arresting.

The Grafin met them just inside the great entrance door. She seemed to be trailing pearl-coloured net, and there were diamonds and rubies at her throat, and in her ears.

"So this is the elder Miss Warren," she said, in her unaccented English, as she offered a be-ringed hand. "Both your sister and my son have given me glowing accounts of what you look like, my dear, so you must forgive me if I stare a little." She did stare, very hard,

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and Velda actually coloured a little. She found the bril-liant blue scrutiny rather worse than the searing glare of an arc light, and only she knew how shattering the effects of an arc light could be on occasion.

But the countess merely smiled when she had satis-fied her curiosity, and her smile was an admission that two people could not be entirely wrong.

"And how nice it is to see you again," she said to Sue when she shook hands. "I'm afraid I shall have to call you Susannah, otherwise if I say Miss Warren we shall become confused."

"I would rather you made it plain Sue," Sue said, a little awkwardly. "Nobody ever calls me Susannah."

The countess appeared surprised. "But Susannah is quite attractive. And Sue is—well,

I suppose it's sweet and diminutive! So we'll make it plain Sue, shall we?"

She led the way into the main salon, and there Anneliese and her brother came forward to be intro-duced. Anneliese was wearing blue . . . plainly a very costly dress which instantly riveted Velda's attention, and Sue felt secretly certain she attached to it the label "Paris". Fritz was beautifully turned out for the eve-ning in the same manner as his cousin, Axel; but un-like Axel his golden good looks were quite unblem-ished, and they even shook Velda for a moment when he made her one of his punctilious little Germanic bows.

"Charmed," he murmured, also subjecting her to the searchlight treatment, but perhaps not quite as im-pressed as his aunt, for he turned away at once to wel-come Sue, and his blue eyes actually glowed a little as he took her hand.

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"Now, this is something I've looked forward to," he confided to her. "I don't mind admitting that but for the fact that we were dragged off to Vienna I'd have been down at that chalet of yours to say, 'Do you remember me?' And, as a matter of fact, I intended to do so as soon as we returned. But Axel said you were coming to dinner tonight, and I've been kicking my heels with impatience all day!"

Sue was quite unaccustomed to dealing with young men of his type, and she `hardly knew how to reply to such a blatant admission of his desire to see her again. Especially as it was accompanied by the frankest of messages, which he left it to his blue eyes to transmit. He seemed to find her wood-nymph appearance com-pletely satisfying, and she was glad when her host ap-proached—as he had approached once before, when she had lunch there—and asked her what she would like to drink.

On this occasion, as it was such a very warm night, and she had not recently tumbled down a mountain-side and cracked her head against a tree she asked for fruit juice, and he put it into her hand with one of the half-grave smiles that he had taken to reserving for her since his visit to the chalet.

Anneliese had evidently made up her mind that she would have to be affable, and she talked quite a lot to Sue at dinner, although Fritz, as her immediate neighbour, talked far more. Velda was placed at the right hand of the host, and his mother faced them at the opposite end of the table.

Knowing her sister as well as she did Sue realized that she was now in her element. Although she had cultivated for the occasion a quiet air of diffidence

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which might have deceived some people, she was so secretly elated at having achieved a desired end that her green eyes sparkled with it under her skilfully dark-ened eyelashes. Her proximity to her host, who was most—even markedly—attentive to her, and the mag-nificence of the room where the lights shone down on silver and glass and flowers, seemed to go a little to her head, and as a result her diffidence was gradually overcome, and her whole being sparkled as well as her eyes.

Even Anneliese seemed to find her fascinating after a time, and the countess was far more urbane and less condescending in her attitude towards her than she had been to Sue on the occasion of Sue's first visit. She smiled frequently and appeared keen to listen when Velda held forth on the subject of her daily life in London, and the routine of modelling and displaying gowns; and although Sue was certain she would never have noticed a model in the ordinary way for some reason Velda was not merely noticed but was pro-moted to the status of an honoured guest.

The countess's eyes went constantly to her son as he talked and listened to the girl on his right, and there was a birdlike intensity in them at times, as if she was waiting and hoping for a sign that she had long been looking for. It even occurred to Sue that she actually hoped he might become interested in Velda, and would display that interest . . . Although only a fort-night before Sue had been certain she was just as anx-ious for Anneliese to awaken his interest.

Which proved that Sue was probably imagining things, and in any case she hoped she was . . . For even the thought of Velda finding favour with the Graf gave

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rise to such consternation at the back of her mind that it actually startled her a little. And it wasn't because of anything personal . . . anything connected with those extraordinary little thrills that sped up and down her arm when Axel laid his hand over hers. It was because Velda, she knew, was entirely self-seeking, and although she was fond of her as a sister nothing blinded her to this knowledge.

And Axel hadn't merely lost an arm, and suffered disfigurement, he had suffered from some other cause at one period of his life . . . she was certain of that. She had been certain of it from the moment his remote dark eyes met hers in the wood.

He had withdrawn into himself, as a result of what-ever it was, and Anneliese knew why he was with-drawn, and so did his mother.

His mother probably nourished a burning ambition to overcome that state of withdrawal, and to see him return to what he had once been . . . a devastatingly handsome, light-hearted, and probably very gay young man.

"Your sister is very attractive," Fritz observed to Sue, halfway through the meal, "but I think she would be more attractive if she was less aware of it herself."

Instantly Sue felt that she must defend her sister. "What do you mean?" she asked. "Velda is perfect-

ly natural. She's accustomed to admiration, and so I suppose she looks for it. Any girl who received the amount of publicity she does would react in the same way to an audience."

He smiled. "Do you think my cousin is a very appreciative

audience?"

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"The—Graf, you mean?" "Who else?" His cool blue eyes looked amused. "Do

you imagine Fraulein Velda would exert herself to such an extent just to entertain my aunt? Or me, if I was interested?"

"And you're not?" she asked, while she flushed a little. She had a feeling he was undervaluing the only other member of her family.

"No, little one, I'm not. Attenuated beauties have never appealed to me, whereas delightful little brown-headed girls with soft brown eyes and a skin like golden roses appeal to me very much!"

And he looked audaciously into her eyes, so that she flushed more noticeably and looked away.

After dinner there was the usual routine of coffee, and once again Anneliese undertook the temporary role of hostess in order to spare her aunt. Velda looked at her rather critically when she accepted her cup from her, and Sue wondered whether she was seeing herself in such a role . . . looking far more graceful than Anneliese could ever look, and far more fitted to be the chatelaine of such a superb home as the schloss.

Velda's eyes appraised everything, and missed noth-ing. At the end of the evening she could probably have supplied an inventory of the contents of the main sa-lon, and she had arrived at an estimate of the value of the countess's jewels, and the cost of her drifting tulle over layers of shimmering satin long before the eve-ning was over.

And that gave her a fairly rough idea of the extent of the Grafin's dress allowance . . . which she might, or might not, receive from her son.

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The Grafin insisted that she sat near to her, and she began to ask her innumerable questions connected not so much with her business career, as with her more personal background. Sue escaped out of earshot in case her sister should draw too freely on her powers of invention—a thing she had done before when she had considered it might be of value—and the Graf came up behind her and offered to show her over the schloss.

"It won't be such a satisfactory tour as we could make in the daytime, but you will at least see some-thing of what my ancestors have handed down to me," he said, his voice rather soft, as he stood very close to her.

Sue hesitated for a moment . . . Would Velda be annoyed because she wasn't the one to be shown the von Speitz family treasures, and it was she who had particularly requested to be shown over the schloss? But the Grafin was listening very carefully to a story about a distinct connection of the Warrens—only Velda didn't make it clear to her just how distant the connection was—who had been knighted for his ser-vices to his country, and had a magnificent 'place' in the Midlands, and Sue realized that it would be very impolite to interrupt. And although Velda was looking her way—almost suspiciously—Sue had suffered quite enough that evening from the persistent attentiveness of Fritz, and his efforts to get her to agree to meet him somewhere ouside the schloss, and spend an evening in Innsbruck, and she couldn't turn her back on an opportunity to feel safe from Fritz for a while.

Also, of course—and as she looked up at him she knew that it was the main reason why she suddenly,

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and quite desperately, wanted to see over the schloss- there was the quiet protective charm of her host; and at the thought that he would exert it on her behalf her pulses started fluttering suddenly like wild things.

She peeped at him shyly under her soft brown eye-lashes.

"Thank you," she said, "I'd love to be shown over the schloss."

But her slight hesitation seemed to puzzle him a little. His dark eyes looked down at her enquiringly, even rather penetratingly for a moment . . . even then he took her arm and guided her towards one of the tall windows that opened outwards onto the terrace.

"We'll go this way," he said, "Because it's a fine night, and you might like to see the view from the terrace at night. Unfortunately the moon will have waned by this time, but there are enough stars to let you see the peaks and the valley. Later I'll show you a far finer view—or it is in the daytime—but we'll begin here."

The glass doors closed behind them, and they were out on the spaciousness and the loneliness of the ter-race. Still retaining possession of her arm, the Graf led her to the balustrade that protected the unwary from falling over the sheer drop that was immediately below them, and he drew her attention to the thickness of the woods crowding at the base of the drop.

"Below there is where we met," he said. "Do you remember?"

Did she remember? For one moment she had the feeling that something fantastic and inevitable was taking place, and that it was hurrying her along at a tremendous pace towards some utterly desirable goal.

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The feel of her host's fingers lightly encircling her bare forearm provided her with this curious conviction .. . And then she knew that it was nothing more than a lightheaded, fanciful notion, and she murmured that of course she remembered. He had been very indulgent to her that day.

"Some people would have called one of their gar-deners and had me shown the nearest exit," she re-marked.

"Perhaps," he said, and released her arm. They walked along the terrace, and he pointed out

to her the silver thread of the Inn, traversing the floor of the main valley. The silvery peaks were too beauti-ful, at that hour, to mention, and she simply feasted her eyes on them.

They passed beneath an arch and into a walled gar-den. It was here, he said, that his grandmother had spent most of her time in the summer months, and his mother liked to sit there, too. Sue felt her senses swim a little at the perfume of the roses, and she knew now where her own had come from . . . that wonderful bunch he had presented her with.

They walked across the velvety coolness of the lawns, and then back towards the house. This time they entered it by way of a small door let into one of the tremendously thick walls, and Sue found that they were in a corridor, panelled after the style of an English country house. The Graf opened a door on their right, and indicated that this was the library, and she smelt the unmistakable smell of ancient bindings, and of solid leather upholstery, and lush furnishings. The fireplace was a magnificent example of the carved bar-onial kind, and above it there hung a portrait of a

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woman who looked so like the Graf that Sue exclaimed about it, and he explained that it was his grandmother —his paternal grandmother—painted in the first year of her marriage.

He switched on another light so that she could ad-mire it, and it was certainly worth admiring, for the sitter had been a radiantly beautiful girl when she was painted, with the same dark eyes as her grandson, and the same infinitely dark hair. Also she looked as if her cup of happiness was filled to overflowing, and there was nothing at all that she lacked for in life.

She said impulsively: "She looks happy . . . She looks very happy!" "And why shouldn't she look happy?" The oddest

little smile curved his lips as he gazed, not at his grand-mother's portrait, but at the girl who stood before it. "She was twenty-one, she had a husband she adored, and a three-month-old child .. . my father! She was also mistress of the schloss, and to her that meant a great deal."

"I should think it would mean a great deal to any woman," Sue said quickly.

His eyes remained fixed on her face. "Would it mean a great deal to a woman who was

accustomed to the life of a city? Who would, perhaps, feel cut off by the isolation?"

Sue looked frankly amazed. "I can't imagine any woman who could honestly

prefer a city to the opportunity to live in a place like this," she returned. "And if she was so stupid that bus-tle, noise and endless distraction meant more to her than the tranquillity and the loveliness of this place—" she felt her breath catch as she noticed how close to

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the great window the stars seemed to be pressing. "Well!" She shrugged her slim shoulders. "I can say no more! To me it has everything!"

His hand desecnded on her shoulder, and even his voice gave away the fact that he was smiling.

"I'm glad to hear you say that, little Susannah. But you mustn't forget that my grandmother didn't live here all the year round . . . She spent many months of the year in Vienna. And if Vienna hasn't got every-thing, it has a great deal. A woman who loved what you were pleased to describe as bustle and diversion could find enough of it there, even if she quickly grew tired of living on the side of a mountain."

Sue felt a little bewildered by his argument, and since to her it seemed a little pointless—the idea of living on a mountain appealing to her enormously at that moment—she decided to say no more, except to repeat what she had already admitted to him once, that she hoped to see Vienna one day.

His hand, resting warmly on her shoulder, slid away from it. But not before the pressure of his fingers had increased a little.

"Before you leave Austria you certainly must," he said. "I think I can make you a promise that I will try and arrange it while you are here."

Her heart leapt, and then started to beat more slug-gishly. 'While you are here!' . . . For, of course, the time must come when she would have to go home. This unreal episode would end, and all too soon she would find herself back in the world of grim reality. The world where she had to work for her living, and where there were no romantic Austrian castles, or

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counts or countesses who condescended to ask her to dinner.

A very different world ... She felt very sober as she followed the count from

the room. He showed her so many things in the next half-hour

that it was only when a chiming clock made her aware of the time that she felt surprised. While it was passing there was such a lot to admire that she could concen-trate on nothing else.

There was the ballroom where they still had occa-sional balls, and where the crystal chandeliers and the mirrors were shrouded in protective coverings. The long damask-covered couches and the spindly-legged chairs that were ranged against the walls were also partially protected. As Sue walked across the glistening floor with her host she wondered what it would be like to dance there . . . Whether Axel himself still danced now that he had only one arm.

But the subject of his arm was a subject that she felt was sternly taboo, and so she couldn't of course ask him. She couldn't always pretend she didn't rea-lize keenly how badly handicapped he was without that other arm, but that was far as she dared go.

After the ballroom he showed her another smaller drawing-room, a room that in England would have have been called a morning-room, and a gun-room. Then they entered a kind of gallery that was lined with portraits—mostly family portraits—and he switched on several more lights so that she could re-cognize his mother in a white ball-gown, and his father in some sort of a uniform. He obviously didn't expect

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her to recognize his father, but she did. She paused in front of it and exclaimed at once:

"He, too, is like you. You must take after the pa-ternal side of your family, and not the maternal."

He smiled down at her. "How observant you are," he commented. They passed through a door at the far end of the

gallery, and came out on to a broader gallery above the well of the hall. This part of the castle was by far the oldest part, and with its dimly seen vaulted roof and faded banners depending from the roof beams Sue thought it must have changed little in the course of centuries. Her host took her arm again and gripped it firmly.

"And now," he said, "if you don't mind climbing a spiral staircase I'll show you the view I mentioned earlier."

The staircase was set in the thickness of the wall, and had nothing whatever to do with the magnificent main staircase. Electric lights glowed at intervals in niches in the walls, and were highly necessary because the treads were very narrow, and were perilously nar-row on the inside of the stone corkscrews. Nevertheless, Sue negotiated them without incident, since the Graf s one hand was underneath her elbow, and she won-dered how he managed without any support whatso-ever, and no means of saving himself if he did miss his footing.

It was only when they reached the rooms to which the staircase led that she realized he had every oppor-tunity to become familiar with the staircase. The rooms were his own, and represented the private suite he had chosen for himself when the schloss came into his pos-

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session. Before that they had been occupied by his father, who must also have liked solitude on occasion, for they were far removed from the ordinary living quarters in the castle.

For a man with only one arm Sue thought it was an odd choice, until she saw the inside of them, and the spectacular view from the semi-circular windows. It gave her an odd feeling to stand there close to one of those windows and realize that it was this very tower that had provided her with her earliest glimpse of the castle, and that she was now an honoured guest inside it.

No longer a curious sightseer at the castle gates! . . but one who was permitted to pass beyond them, and even invade the sanctity of the owner's retreat from prying eyes whenever he felt the need of it.

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CHAPTER SIX

BEHIND her the lights that the Graf had switched on glowed softly, picking out the beauties of his carpet, making his books, pictures and ornaments look like colourful pieces in a mosaic.

The room—which was a combination of sitting-room and quiet, restful study—was severely mascu-line, but it was an elegant masculinity, and the overall impression was one of strict modernity. Television was not possible because of the mountains, but he had a very powerful-looking wireless set, and also a pi-ano . . . which must have necessitated a good deal of skilful manoeuvring when the tower rooms were being furnished.

"I used to play that," he remarked, indicating the piano with a wry twist of his lips. "But nowadays it has to be five finger exercises if I feel the urge to do so."

She experienced a sudden almost irresistible urge to ask him about the accident—and she could only as-sume that it was an accident—that had deprived him of his left arm; but she hadn't yet a sufficient amount of courage to do so, and she was spared making any sympathetic responses when he opened the window quickly, and invited her to step out on to the balcony.

"It's perfectly safe," he assured her, "only at first you'll probably have the impression that you've been dropped out of an aircraft and are floating somewhere between heaven and earth. Especially if I put out the

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lights, which is essential if you're to get the maximum effect."

Unfortunately he switched off the lights just as she was to step over the narrow sill on to the balcony, and he heard her give a quick cry of alarm. He reached her in time to prevent an upsurge of sheer panic be-cause her groping hands found nothing to clutch at, and when his arm went round her, and she felt herself held strongly and securely, she was so ashamed of her-self that she hardly realized what had happened to her.

Her face was almost pressed against his shoulder, and his dark chin rested lightly against the top of her head. She didn't know it, but her hair strayed all over the front of his dinner-jacket, and the night breeze blew a strand of it against his face. He spoke to her in a somewhat unfamiliar voice, apologizing for his stu-pidity in allowing her to go ahead of him.

"It was unforgivable of me. I'm terribly sorry, I do apologize! . . . I didn't realize you wouldn't wait."

"It was my fault for thinking I knew what I was doing. And, after all, you did warn me what it would be like! .. " She lifted her head and felt as if a black wall of darkness was pressing upon her, and for an instant she pressed harder against him "It's so—dark," she said, almost childishly.

His arm tightened about her. "That's because you've just left a lighted room. In a

moment now you will see the stars, and then you will be able to make out the mountains. And after that it will be almost as clear as day."

She peered cautiously from the shelter of his arm. "Do you often come out here at night to look at the

view?"

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He laughed softly into the silky hair that felt like feathers against his face.

"For you it isn't a view at the moment," he com-mented. "But be patient. You are not a cat, you know . . . you have to grow accustomed to darkness."

She was more aware of the deep beating of his heart close beside her ear than anything else; but when the darkness dissolved and the pale shimmer of the star-shine fell upon her face, and below them and all around them the mountain world stood forth and even the silver cataracts running down from the heights be-came visible, she knew that she wanted to gasp. She did gasp. It was a poem in indigo and pearly phos-phorescence . . . a miracle that opened like a flower before her eyes, a swaying backcloth.

"Oh!" she said, and then "Oh!" again. The Graf's hold loosened a little. Deliberately she

stepped a pace away from him. "No wonder you come out here at night," she re-

marked, her breath catching a little as she spoke. "No wonder you like living up here in this tower!"

"But, unfortunately, life cannot be lived in a tower," he observed, so sombrely that she wanted to turn and demand what he meant, but sudden shyness prevented her doing anything of the kind, and instead she clutched at the balustrade.

The swaying backcloth steadied a little, the silvery beautiful world grew more silvery and more beautiful. But now, even more than when she was close to him, she could feel that slightly quickened beating of his heart—as if it was beating against her own heart—and the faint masculine fragrance of him must have got up into his head, or else it had excited her blood,

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for she wished the world would grow dark again and that her fingers could fasten on him, and not the cool stone of the balustrade.

At the same time a sort of embarrassed horror rushed up over her because, she believed, she had clutched at him, and if only the darkness had persis-ted she might be clutching at him still. She wondered what he must think of her, and forgot how his arm had tightened while he held her close, and that his voice had had that queer, muffled note in it when first he responded to her cry of alarm.

She rushed into speech because the moment seemed to demand it, and she said something she would not have said in ordinary circumstances. Something she had carefully avoided saying every time it was borne home to her that his loss of an arm was a very real deprivation to him

"Herr Graf, I can't help wondering . . . how you lost your arm! And I wonder still more how you manage to be so independent without it!"

For a moment there was silence . . . And it seemed a very long moment while it lasted. Then the Graf re-plied quietly, with a strange absence of emotion, as if her reference to his disability had actually drained him of all emotion, and left him cold, and still, and empty.

"I lost it as a result of a fall from a horse," he admitted, at last. "It was a bad fall, and the horse had to be shot."

"Was it here? . . . On the mountain?" "Yes. The horse took fright, of course, and we

plunged down into the valley . . . or well on our way into the valley!" with a dryness that grated on her a little. "The same accident was responsible for the scar

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on my face, which can hardly be said to have im-proved my beauty," with such increased dryness that this time she turned to him in consternation.

"Oh, but it's only a scar! . . . And scars fade some-times in time," she told him hopefully.

"This one won't," with grimly set lips which the silvery light made it easy for her to see.

"And you manage so marvellously without your arm . . .

" I have got over the stage of being fed with a spoon, if that's what you mean," he returned, with freezing coldness. "My man has to help me dress sometimes, and he always has to help me tie my tie . .. And some-times I'm clumsy over little things, like tying my shoe laces and lighting a cigarette. And, of course, I can't drive a car, or ask a lady to dance. I suppose I could dance, since my feet are not involved, but the lady might find it unpleasant clutching at an empty sleeve."

The words poured from him in a kind of icy flood, and Sue was actually appalled. She realized that she had done the wrong thing in asking him about his acci-dent, but she had never anticipated such a reaction as this. Once more she blundered, feeling so burningly anxious to reassure him about his disability and its effect on people with whom he came in contact that yet again she said the wrong thing.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry! . . . I mean, I'm terribly sorry for you!"

"Thank you, fraulein," he returned, a note of arctic ice in his voice this time; "but the last thing T permit people to do is to feel sorry for me! When I begin to susnect that their attitude is one of overwhelming sym-pathy which I can do without I decide that the mo-

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ment is ripe for the discussion of something else! Shall we rejoin the others? I'm afraid your sister will be wondering what has happened to us!"

In the face of such an undeserved rebuff, and such aristocratic hauteur, Sue felt she could do nothing. And, certainly, she could say nothing morel She followed him back to the less remote parts of the castle with such a turmoil of consternation going on inside her that she had the utmost difficulty in summoning an untroubled expression to her face when they entered the drawing-room.

The Graf was completely urbane, and excessively apologetic to Velda for remaining away so long.

"There were so many things in which your sister was interested that I'm afraid our tour of the castle took rather longer than I anticipated," he explained.

Velda acknowledged his apology with one of her carefully calculated smiles, but reproved Sue for taking up so much of the count's time. She frowned at the girl who by this time was feeling as if the solid earth was no longer as solid as she had imagined beneath her feet, and in addition was hot with embarrassment and therefore awkward; and then gently reproved her host for not inviting her to see his treasures.

"I think I explained to you that I am terribly in-rested in ancient buildings," she jolted his memory with just a suspicion of rebuke in her clear green eyes, also. "And I hoped very much to see over the schloss tonight! But I was so engrossed in your mother's con-versation that I realize you couldn't very well have in-terrupted us," she added, in forgiving tones.

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The Graf offered more fervent apologies, and said that next time . . . And, of course, there would be a next time! It was a little late tonight.

"Much too late," his mother commented, with a sidelong slightly displeased look at Sue. "But, I must say, I've thoroughly enjoyed my evening, and I shall look forward to the next occasion when you visit us, my dear," treating Velda to one of her most affable smiles. "Some of the revelations you have made to me about your work have been most entertaining!"

Shortly before they left she offered Velda the use of one of their cars when she wanted to go rather far afield for shopping; and she said to her son that it would be an excellent idea if the Misses Warren ac-companied them into Innsbruck one day, and had lunch with them there.

"Velda—I may call you Velda, mayn't I, my dear?" with that blue-eyed, brilliant smile—"has had such a hard time during the year that we must make her holi-day here very pleasant. And Axel is quite excellent as a guide," she assured Velda. "I'm sure he would simply love showing you the sights!"

Sue, who by this time felt entirely out of it, sat glancing through a magazine that she had found on a table near to her, and it was Fritz who took it away from her and whispered:

"Your sister is doing very well. Very well! . . . By the way, did I ask you if you rode?"

The car was announced at that moment, and the entire party accompanied the Warren girls out into the night. Axel decided to accompany them on the short journey to the chalet, and he sat between the two sis-ters—the one by this time glowing and confident, the

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other silent and by no means certain of the extent of the crime she had committed.

Velda said goodnight with so much warmth in her voice that Sue would have blushed for her if she had felt like blushing for anyone just then. And when it came to her own turn to have her hand shaken and held for a moment her voice, by contrast, was small and bleak and had a note which sounded like finality in it.

"I'm sorry I took up so much of your time, Herr Graf, when you were good enough to show me over the schloss. I realize that it was very thoughtless of me. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me!"

"There is nothing to forgive," the Graf returned gravely, sounding also a little surprised. And for just one instant she thought she saw a gleam of concern in his eyes as he gazed back at her. But before she could be certain she turned away, leaving it to Velda to offer the thanks of them both for such a wonderful evening.

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CHAPTER SEVEN

THE next morning a small, bright sports car stopped outside the gate, and Fritz von Speitz alighted from it. He crossed the small patch of garden to the chalet steps, and waved familiarly to Sue when she appeared at the head of them.

"Good morning, fraulein," he called gaily. He took the steps in one bound and stood beside her at the wooden balcony rail, over which Freda trailed her climbing plants. "Fraulein Beautiful as the Morning!" he added, and for once Sue went a long way to meriting the description, for she was carefully dressed in a blue and white print dress, and her small white shoes could not have been more immaculate.

Velda emerged and beamed at them both. Her atti-tude said plainly, "And what are you two young peo-ple planning?" She, too, was extremely carefully dressed for such an early hour of the day, and as she drifted past them and made her way down into the garden and the shade of a tree Fritz looked after her and whistled slightly.

"Does your sister ever come off parade?" he en-quired, softly. "She must find it a little tiresome to have to think of her appearance all the time!"

She ignored the question, and asked him politely what she could do for him. Would he like to be invited into the house, or would he prefer to sit in the garden?

"Not under that tree with your sister," he replied, taking her arm and guiding her along the balcony. "We will sit in your pleasant little Wohnzimmer and talk of

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the matters that have brought me here. First of all, there is a speak-easy in the village that has quite a good floor and dance-band. Does that appeal to you, pretty one?"

"If you mean would I like to go there and dance, the answer is 'No' ," Sue answered immediately.

He smiled, and shrugged. His blue eyes openly caressed her.

"That is a pity," he observed, "because I was hoping you would say 'Yes' . However, I haven't come to the end of my suggestions yet. Would you like to accom-pany me into Innsbruck and lunch with me? Not to-day, but tomorrow. Take care lest you negative this one too hurriedly, for it could be the better of two al-ternatives."

"What do you mean?" she asked, her expression a little wary, for he had the air of one who might pro-duce a trump card at any moment.

His smile broadened. "The Herr Graf and his mother, my revered aunt,

are planning to ask Miss Velda Warren to accompany them into Innsbruck tomorrow, and lunch with them. It is fairly certain they will ask you, too; but as you are no doubt aware, you simply do not exist in my aunt's eyes . . . That is to say, your sister has so cap-tivated her, and she is always involved in some scheme or other that wilfully excludes certain people, that she is prepared to concentrate on one of the Misses Warren only. If you choose to be politely pressed, knowing you are not wanted, you are not quite the girl I think you are."

"I see," Sue said, quietly, at last. He touched her hand, lightly.

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"I can think of nothing that will make me happier than to have you lunch with me! So please—even if you turn up your small nose at speak-easies!—will you let me take you to Innsbruck?"

His eyes were very blue, compelling her . . . But nothing would have compelled Sue, if she hadn't just been warned. She swallowed something in her throat, that felt like an unpleasant dryness, was aware of a slowly spreading sea of disillusionment, and nodded.

"It's awfully good of you to ask me," she murmured mechanically. "When—when would you want me to be ready?"

"Eleven o'clock tomorrow morning? We'd better say half-past ten, and that will give us a chance to get well away before the main body arrives to pick up your sister!"

She nodded again. "Very well." "That's the girl!" he exclaimed, and this time he

pressed her hand more boldly. "I shall look forward to tomorrow morning. And now I'm going to take my de-parture before my cousin arrives to issue his mother's invitation."

Barely had Fritz roared away in his expensive road-ster than the Graf was deposited outside the gate. The Rolls slid silently up to the chalet, and as she stood watching Velda rising hastily from her deck chair in order to welcome personally this more important visitor Sue wondered whether the two cars had crossed on the narrow mountain road, and if so whether the Graf felt any curiosity at all about his cousin's visit.

He stood holding Velda's hand for a moment, and then proceeded with her up the path to the chalet. Sue

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would have disappeared altogether if she hadn't been absolutely certain he had already caught a glimpse of her; and, as it was, she made up her mind that she would do so at the earliest opportunity, leaving Velda to entertain the Graf.

The slight smile in his eyes when he greeted her rocked her decision for a moment, and then Velda's opening sentence steadied it again.

"I've been apologizing again for your behaviour last night, darling." She shook a finger at the younger girl. "It was too bad of you to try and wreck our evening, and I simply can't think what the Grafin thought of you!" She appealed to von Speitz. "I do hope your mother hasn't received an entirely wrong impression of my sister?"

"Why, of course not." Sue thought he appeared gen-uinely surprised. "Why should she? It was my fault en-tirely that we absented ourselves for such a lengthy period from the rest of you last night. I'm afraid I'm rather proud of the schloss, and I forget the flight of time when I get the opportunity to display it to a visi-tor."

But Velda shook her head as if she didn't really be-lieve him, and was sure that he was merely being chiv-alrous.

"Well, all the same, I've warned Sue . . . Don't do it again!"

She shook another half-laughing finger at her sister, and then invited the guest to be seated. Once more she managed to insinuate herself on to the same settee as the one he occupied.

"My mother thoroughly enjoyed last night," he said, leaning a little towards her—in lime green and white

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she was certainly very delectable—"and she has asked me to repeat to you how much she enjoyed meeting you."

Velda flushed delightfully. "Oh, I am glad," she exclaimed—and Sue, who sat

uneasily on a chair near the door, was certain she was very glad. "I'm quite overcome!"

The Graf smiled a little. Perhaps it was purely by accident that his eyes lighted on Sue.

"My mother doesn't take to everyone." Did the smile in his eyes deepen a little? "She has somewhat rigid notions, but she is also a little impulsive, and last night her impulsiveness got the better of her. She is afraid that she asked you rather a lot of questions, and that you might have found it embarrassing. If so, I am to request that you forgive her."

"But, I didn't find it at all embarrassing," Velda assured him. "I loved every minute of the evening! .. . And I think your entire family is delightful—espe-cially that charming boy, Fritz, who seems to have taken something in the nature of a fancy to my sister, for he has already been here calling on her this morn-ing."

"I am aware of that." There was a certain dryness in the visitor's tone this time. "I passed his car on the road. If I had my way all cars of that type would be banished from mountain roads."

Velda smiled indulgently . . . with much the same indulgence that she had smiled at Fritz himself that morning.

"Ah, well, young people . . . " she murmured. "Sue is in her twenties, but she always strikes me as such a child! Unsophisticated and inconsiderate, like the rest

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of them. She and your cousin should get on very well." The Graf's expression was suddenly curiously blank.

He addressed himself more formally to Velda. "My mother has asked me to tell you that it would

make her very happy if you would join her on a shop-ping expedition to Innsbruck tomorrow . . . you and your sister, of course! And afterwards we propose to have lunch there. I expect by this time you are fairly familiar with Innsbruck, but it makes a change from the mountains. Is the invitation of any interest to you?"

"Oh, but of course!" Velda's face literally glowed. "And, as a matter of fact, I do want to do a little shop-ping . . . Being without a car, you know, does make things a little bit awkward." She made a little gesture with her hands, as if the awkwardness was something she was prepared to endure for the sake of the simple life. "But the Grafin did say—"

"That you could have a car whenever you want one? But, of course," he said, smoothly. "Just send Freda up to the schloss with a message, and a car will be at your door in a matter of minutes. But tomorrow we want to enjoy your society," as if perhaps it hadn't quite penetrated to her understanding that that was what he personally wanted more than anything else. His dark eyes smiled into hers. "I hope I have already made that sufficiently clear?"

For a moment even Velda felt slightly stunned by this wonderful piece of good fortune that had come her way. That smile of his—so warm, so intimate, so per-sonal—set her heart fluttering wildly, hopefully, and she simply couldn't believe in her good fortune. His mother had hinted something about an unhappy love

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affair years ago—it had a connection with the acci-dent that had deprived him of his arm—and a dis-inclination for feminine society; but it seemed that he could still react like any normal man when the right girl came along.

And although it was a little early to feel absolutely convinced that she was the right girl . . . Well, the in-dications were that she was, and she had his mother's unspoken approval. Of that she was able to feel fairly well assured.

It gave her the confidence to meet his dark eyes with her green ones in such a way that Sue—by this time literally squirming on her chair—felt a hot blush of embarrassment rise to her cheeks.

"You are too kind," Velda murmured, fluttering her lashes to emphasize their long, silken beauty. "Too kind, Herr Graf . . . You make me aware of how little we can offer you in return for all your kindness. Yours and your mother's."

"To begin with you can stop calling me Herr Graf," he returned, a little quirk of amusement appearing at one corner of his mouth. "I dislike being on such for-mal terms with my friends. And my friends call me Axel."

"And mine call me Velda," she informed him, a demure dimple appearing at a corner of her mouth.

"I shall not forget . . . Velda," he assured her, softly. Then he turned, as if he had suddenly remembered her, to Sue. "And can I take it that you will join us tomorrow, Susannah?" he asked.

Before she declined the invitation Sue requested him, as she had requested his mother, to make it plain Sue.

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"I will," he agreed, at once, "so long as you don't insist on attaching to it the prefix 'plain'. Well, Sue?" watching her with a rather more thoughtful look in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said, quietly, "But I'm not free to-morrow."

Instantly his eyebrows ascended. "Not free?" "I've agreed to have lunch with your cousin, Fritz.

As a matter of fact, he is taking me to Innsbruck." There was a moment of silence, and then he spoke

sharply. "I see!" Another, slightly shorter, silence, and he

suggested: "Well, why don't we make it a party? Anne-liese could join us, and it would be very pleasant."

"Do you think your mother would approve of that?" Velda spoke hurriedly, looking at him anxiously. "In any case, you would have to consult her, wouldn't you?"

"Of course the Grafin wouldn't approve," Sue cut in, just as hurriedly. "She suggested a simple shopping expedition, not a large gathering. And, in any case, I'm sure she would prefer it if the shopping expedition was confined to you two, with the Graf—" she most cer-tainly was not going to call him Axel—"joining you for lunch. And now, if you'll forgive me, I've promised

Freda to help her with the lunch." She stood up and looked directly at the Graf. "Please thank your mother for her invitation, won't you?"

He, too, stood up—as he would have done, in any case, when a member of her sex was standing—and he was frowning.

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"Why should my mother prefer it if the shopping ex-pedition was confined to your sister and herself?" he asked.

Sue made a little movement with her shoulders. "I don't know . . . I think she would, that's all." His frown grew noticeably blacker. "And Fritz is not always a very careful driver. I'm

not at all sure I ought to allow you to travel with him in that car . . ."

"Unfortunately," she informed him, lightly, "I make my own decisions over matters of that sort. And you cannot very well prevent me, Herr Graf."

And she left it to her sister to apologize for her, and the fact that she was a little unpredictable at times. And that her temperament was not always as sweet and tractable as it might be.

In the morning Fritz arrived for her in his rakish red car punctually at ten-thirty, and they set off for Innsbruck about five minutes later.

Sue began to realize what the Graf meant when he described his cousin as "not always a very careful driver" as they whizzed round hairpin bends at far too excessive a rate of speed, and generally treated the mountain roads with an indifference and a lack of re-spect that was no doubt due to a good deal of familiar-ity with them, and the fact that—basically—he was quite a skilled driver.

Sue gave up hanging on to her seat with two nervous hands after the first mile or so, recognizing that Fritz was quite competent at the wheel of a car, and also that whatever happened now she could not prevent it. If they reached Innsbruck intact she would feel very re-

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sieved, but if they were to go over the edge of the road and roll down into the valley that would be a fate she probably richly deserved for accepting an invitation she hadn't wanted to accept, and for ignoring a piece of advice when it was given to her.

If the Graf's peremptory remark about not allowing her to travel in the car could be regarded simply as a piece of advice!

But it was a lovely morning, and she wanted to for-get the Graf and everything connected with him. Fritz being his cousin, that was not easy . . . not at first. But Fritz being a very gay young man, it became easier by degrees.

They were now into July, and a July morning in the mountains is something to remember. A July morn-ing with the sun sparkling on a twisting blue river that formed itself into blue lakes every now and again, while the roar of countless unseen waterfalls and cataracts filled the air, was too much to be considered simply as food for future reflection. Sue had to enjoy it while she was being whisked in and out of scented dark pine woods and leafy beech woods, quaint mediaeval vil-lages and at least one fair-sized stout-walled town; and by the time they were well on the way to Innsbruck her spirits had lifted considerably, although she couldn't quite understand it, and she was even prepared to laugh at her companion when he lifted up his voice—which was, actually, very pleasing—and sang snatches of Austrian folk-songs as a salute to the morning.

Once they arrived in Innsbruck he asked her what she would like to do first, and as she had only visited the place once before and had little opportunity to do

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essential personal shopping, she said she would like to shop. So he parked the car and accompanied her on a round of the shops, even accompanying her inside the shops and offering advice when it came to a matter of selection. Sue felt embarrassed, but the shop assistants —mostly blonde, extremely attractive young women—loved it. Fritz had a way of looking at them as if they had suddenly become important to him, and he couldn't think where they had been hiding all his life, and he quipped endlessly in a lively, audacious man-ner, which made the girls giggle and Sue feel hot about the cheeks.

But she had to admit he was an ideal companion for such an outing. When the shopping was over he placed himself once more at her entire disposal, and this time she elected to be shown over the town. Like all Austrian towns it had a distinctly mediaeval flavour, and was full of interesting architectural fea-tures, gay restaurants, hotels, shops, and even beauty-parlors.

Sue wished she could find time to have her hair washed and set before they returned home, and the ever-obliging Fritz said, "Of course she could have her hair done!" They would have lunch first, and then he would wait for her while she was beautified—"Not that you need it, liebling!"—and then they would set out in the golden glamour of the afternoon for a leisurely return journey home.

"We'll make it so leisurely that we'll have to have dinner on the way," he suggested, his blue eyes smiling at her coaxingly. "We might even look in at Kurt's speak-easy, if you feel you could bear it, before we get back to the fold."

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But Sue negatived this suggestion at once, and he appeared to be crushed by her decision.

"Ah, well, we'll have a wonderful lunch! .. " And they certainly did. The restaurant he took her

to—and where he was quite obviously well known—was in a kind of cellar, and it was the most romantic cellar Sue had ever entered. There were trailing vines and pot plants, bright table cloths, an orchestra en-sconced behind a positive barrier of colourful growth. The leader of the orchestra came across and chatted intimately with Fritz for about five minutes after they were seated at their table, and then he clicked his heels and bowed to Sue and asked her whether she had any special request for him

Fritz smiled. "The lady is English, so you must play English airs

for her, Hans. My Luve's like a Red, Red Rose! . . . " Sue couldn't help laughing. "That's Scots," she corrected. "And it was Burns

who wrote the words." "Well, Hans shall sing it for you," Fritz said

promptly. And Hans did sing it for her, his Scottish accent a little ludicrous at times, although the music was rich and plaintive. And after that he sang Home, Sweet Home and Comin' Through the Rye, and then became launched on a flood of melodious Viennese waltzes and musicial comedy numbers that appealed to Sue far more in such an atmosphere than the attempts

to arouse in her nostalgia for her homeland. Fritz ordered champagne with the lunch, as she had

been rather afraid that he would, and remembering some of the hairpin bends that he had to negotiate on

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the way home she hoped the effects of it would have worn off completely by the time they set off.

He was very patient about kicking his heels and doing nothing while she had her hair done, and when she rejoined him his undisguised admiration made her reasonably certain the assistants who had worked over her had done a very good job. She had been tempted into having her hair re-styled, and it was very short and soft and feathery, and was full of burnished lights which a special rinse had brought out.

She had also had her nails varnished while she was under the drier, and they matched the new flower-pink lipstick she had bought herself during her shopping tour of the morning. And on settling her bill she had been sprayed with perfume which caused Fritz to wrinkle his nostrils appreciatively when he placed her in the car.

"Are you quite sure you wouldn't like to make it a leisurely drive home?" he enquired, appealingly. "I can make it very leisurely if you'll say the word!"

But she shook her head, and laughed at him wondering what the hour would be when they finally arrived home if she gave in to him.

"I told Velda I'd be home in good time. I don't sup-pose she'll be very late."

"No?" He arched his eyebrows, and his expression was full of meaning as he started up the car. "If I know anything of Miss Velda she'll make it as late as possible," he declared. "But, unfortunately for her, Axel is very correct, and even if 'Try aunt wasn't acting the part of chaperone I doubt whether he'd suggest a diversion on the way home. But he'll probably suggest

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that she stays to dinner, so why can't you have dinner with me?"

"You're very kind, but I've already had lunch at your expense, and I've really had a wonderful day," Sue replied firmly, but truthfully. She added, with more gratitude, "A really wonderful day!"

Fritz shrugged. "Ah, well . . . Crumbs that fall from the rich man's

table! And perhaps one day I'll tempt you to be really rash. We'll stay out so late that Axel will be furious when he hears of it, and stop my allowance."

"Why, does he pay you an allowance?" Sue asked, curiously.

"Oh, yes . . . He makes us all allowances! He's very rich, you know. Almost vulgarly rich, if there is such a condition."

"I rather suspected that he was," Sue admitted thoughtfully.

He glanced at her. "And that aspect of my cousin doesn't interest you?

It interests your sister!" Sue decided to ignore this, and because she was

curious to find out what he meant when he made a certain statement she said:

"What did you mean when you said the Graf would be furious if we stayed out late? Why should it concern him, anyway?"

Fritz shrugged, and once again he sent her a some-what curious sidelong look.

"Have you no idea? Well, shall we say he would think it too bad of me to lead a young girl like you away from the straight and narrow path! As I've said, he's very correct, and his principles are very rigid."

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"I see," Sue said, and felt inclined to sigh a little deep down inside her. For there were not many men like that in the world today . . . They were mostly a little like Fritz, expecting a girl to be co-operative, and not too narrowminded. Fritz, she was sure, would like to indulge in a really violent flirtation if she presented him with the opportunity.

She wondered what sort of a day Velda had had, and whether it had been very satisfactory indeed. All the while they were in Innsbruck she had been pre-pared to bump into one or other of them . Velda and the Grafin, peering into the most expensive shops, and looking terribly expensive themselves. The Graf, elegant and distinguished, and somehow rather shatteringly attractive, in spite of that empty sleeve, and the scar on his cheek.

She sighed again, and Fritz pretended that he didn't hear. He took advantage of her absorption to let the car out, and soon they were streaking along the road at a hair raising rate of speed, and Sue remained com-pletely unaware of it. She was thinking:

I don't suppose they had lunch in a cellar! . . . Even although it was a very attractive cellar! And the Grafin would never permit a band-leader to sing songs about red, red roses at the lunch table.

As if he could read her thoughts Fritz informed her coolly:

"Your sister will have had lunch in an atmosphere of Victorian opulence and modem sparkle. The waiters will have been more deferential, and Axel would never talk familiarly to any one of them. That much I can assure you about without any fear of being wrong! . . . But what the lunch menu consisted of I can-

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not tell you! I doubt whether my aunt would consider it was a champagne occasion, but on the other hand she might have done. Yes; she might very well have done! . . ."

He glanced into his driving-mirror and let out a soft whistle. He slowed the car.

"The Rolls is creeping up on us . . . I had hoped it was ahead of us. Would you like to have a word with your sister?"

"No, no." Sue answered so hastily that he smiled. He refrained from stepping on the accelerator until the sleek and shining Rolls was within a few yards of them, and then, following a gay wave of his hand to acknowledge the occupants of the car behind, he pulled away from them with such a spurt of speed that Sue felt as if her stomach was left behind. She was still in-clined to gasp, and even more inclined to wonder what the Graf was thinking at that moment of his cousin's exhibition of reckless driving, when a collision with a car approaching from the opposite direction was averted by nothing short of a miracle, and Fritz's ex-cellent brakes.

He backed to allow the other car—the driver of which wore a furious expression—to pass them, and the chauffeur-driven Rolls once more slid up behind them. Only this time a door was swung open, and Axel von Speitz descended into the road, his ex-pression not as revealing as that of the man who had just gone on his way to Innsbruck, but tight and grim and boding no good at all to his cousin.

Fritz, who knew better than to attempt to start up his car until the Graf reached them, sat looking cool and nonchalant behind the wheel of the bright

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red roadster. Axel's voice was icy with fury when he demanded to know what he thought he was doing, taking such risks on a mountain road while he had a lady passenger.

Fritz put a perfectly good face on it, refusing to admit that he had taken any risk, although almost immediately afterwards he apologized to Sue if she had felt any momentary sensation of alarm. Sue had felt rather more than a momentary sensation, and she was actually a little pale after the experience; but she was not prepared to get Fritz into trouble, and she denied instantly that she had been even slightly perturbed. The Graf, standing stiffly beside the car, quite obviou-sly didn't believe her.

"I think it would be as well if you got into the car with us, Miss Warren," he said. "You are more likely to complete your journey in safety if you allow Fritz to carry on alone."

But Sue had had a very enjoyable day at Fritz's ex-pense, and she wasn't going to desert him like that.

"Thank you," she returned, smiling stiffly at the Graf, "but I'm perfectly all right where I am. I'm not quite clear about what happened just now, but I don't think it was Fritz's fault, I've been admiring his hand-ling of this car all day, as a matter of fact."

Which was true of the better part of the day, but not of the last ten minutes.

Axel's expression grew even grimmer, and she had not realized before that he could look quite so forbid-ding.

"Even so, I would prefer it if you entered my car," he returned. "Fritz, persuade your passenger to do as

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I wish. I have no intention of allowing her to continue the drive with you."

Fritz had laid a hand gently on Sue's knee, and he murmured to her softly:

"Do as His Excellency desires, Liebling. I appreciate your willingness to go on with me, but we shall create a serious blockage in the road if we stay here much longer, and knowing Axel—" in a much lower under-tone—"we shall be here all night if you continue to be obstinate!"

So Sue left the car with her chin held slightly in the air, and declining to so much as look at the Graf she allowed herself to be assisted into the back of the Rolls, where Velda and the countess were lying back comfortably against the silver-grey upholstery and looking a little pained at having her thrust in amongst them. Velda took note of her sister's new hair-style and looked even less pleased, but the elder lady felt that some polite enquiry after the younger girl's day was essential.

"I hope you have enjoyed yourself with Fritz, my dear," she said, as if she doubted whether anyone could enjoy themselves with Fritz. "I once allowed him to drive me into Innsbruck, but I have been careful not to repeat the experiment."

Sue felt slightly goaded. Such an end to her pleasant day was most unfortunate, and the smug expressions of these two beautifully turned out females—who were obviously by this time on excellent terms with one an-other—seemed to add to the fire of resentment that was coursing through her.

"Thank you, Countess," she returned, "but I have enjoyed my day enormously. If your nephew asks me

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to repeat it I don't think I shall feel nervous about doing so."

The other two exchanged glances. The car moved on, with the count seated beside his

chauffeur on the other side of the glass partition, and Fritz left behind to follow at his leisure. Little conver-sation was indulged in, and by the time they came with-in sight of the chalet gate Sue was beginning to feel that another few yards would be more than she could endure. More than anyone who wasn't a Velda, fired with ambition, or a Grafin, born to fulfil a role which Velda might, or might not, fill one day, could endure with anything approaching comfort.

By the time they stopped outside the chalet her hand was on the door handle, and she was ready to leap out into the road without waiting for the assistance which was certain to be forthcoming. But the countess stop-ped her by observing conversationally that Velda was dining with them at the schloss, and perhaps Sue would like to dine with them, also.

For one moment Sue felt she wanted to disown her sister . . . so eager to grasp at favours that came her way.

"Of course, if you feel that your day has been a little exhausting . . ." the Grafin murmured, providing her with an opportunity to refuse if she wanted to do so.

Sue simply grasped at it. "As a matter of fact, we did do rather a lot of sight-

seeing," she admitted, "And I am rather tired. And, in any case, there are several things I want to do this eve-ning, so I'd rather just be dropped off here."

"Just as you like, my dear," the countess murmured. 104

But when Sue reached the road, and found Axel at her elbow, she had to think of a more convincing ex-cuse.

"I'd rather not," she said, simply, "if you don't mind."

He accompanied her to the gate and held it open for her, and she thought he was going to say goodnight. She held out her hand to him.

"Thank you for the lift, Herr Graf, but it really was unnecessary!"

He spoke to her in a curiously contained voice. "Your sister is going inside to pick out a dress to

wear this evening. She is changing at the schloss. While she is choosing her dress may I come inside and talk to you?"

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CHAPTER EIGHT

SUE had no option but to say, "Yes, of course," in a tone that she strove to make cool and normal. She was aware how his eyes lingered on her hair, and he had even noticed the new nail varnish she was wearing .. . of that she was somehow certain. But there was no ad-miration in his eyes, and his face was set in taut and repressed lines.

He followed her into the little living-room, and she heard Velda run up the stairs to her bedroom. Sounds of opening wardrobe doors and hurriedly pulled out drawers followed, and then the Graf closed the living-room door. He walked over to the tiled stove and took up a position in front of it.

"Why have you decided to refuse all invitations that are issued to you by my mother or myself?" he asked.

Sue found it difficult to answer. She was reacting strongly to the casual way his mother had dismissed her just now, and yet she couldn't possibly involve the countess by stating outright that she knew she wasn't wanted at the schloss. Not by the Grafin von Speitz, anyway.

"I wasn't prepared to dine out tonight," she said. "And as for the other invitation you issued to me yes-terday, well, as you know, I had already agreed to go to Innsbruck with your cousin."

"And did you have an enjoyable day in Innsbruck with my cousin?"

"Very." She nodded her head vigorously. 106

He took a turn or two about the room, and then came back to her.

"If I say that I'm prepared to wait until you've changed here—possibly you dislike the idea of being rushed off to the schloss—will you have dinner with us tonight?"

This time she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Herr Graf, but I have already said 'No'

to your mother." She was surprised to see him bite his lower lip. "I think only yesterday we agreed that formality was

to be abolished between us." "Between you and Velda. I don't think I was

included." "But, of course you were included, and I have

several times called you Susannah." He smiled a little. "Even your favourite abridged Sue!"

"Which you don't like, do you?" she enquired, with sudden curiosity. "You prefer Susannah?"

"I think it is sweet and attractive, and if I was allowed a choice I would always call you Susannah."

"But I can't see myself calling you Axel," she con-fessed, with a return of her abruptness.

Once again he bit his lip—rather hard this time. "You really are angry with me, aren't you?" he

said, quietly. "Is it because of the other night? When I objected to your interest in my arm?"

She swallowed. All her humiliation of that night came rushing back over her.

"My interest in your arm was perfectly natural and normal," she defended herself. "Being a woman I .. . couldn't help feeling sympathy for you. But you made it plain that you don't want sympathy—that you regard

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it as an impertinence!—and therefore I had suddenly become impertinent! I was embarrassed for a short while, but afterwards I decided that you don't need sympathy . . ." an angry note that made her voice shake a little invaded it. "You have so much else besides, so why should anyone risk a snub from you by offering you a purely impulsive form of sympathy?"

The fact that she had amazed and perturbed him was soon obvious.

"But the last thing I intended to do was to snub you, Susannah! I—perhaps I am absurdly sensitive .

"You are," she agreed. "You are also very fortunate in many ways. You have a beautiful house and freedom to go wherever you want to go, you are master of your own fate and you can do whatever you want to do—any time, anywhere!. ."

"Not whatever I want to do," he corrected her, quietly. "If I could do that—any time, anywhere!— I would be a happy man at this moment." He went a little closer to her. "Do you believe that, Susannah?"

She dared not meet his eyes, and she even backed a little away from him.

"Are you trying to tell me you are not a happy man at this moment?"

"I haven't been happy for years," he confessed, simply. "Happiness is something I had made up my mind to do without."

"B-but why?" she asked, aware that the strange breathless sensation she had experienced before was rushing up over her, and her heart had started to pound painfully because he refused to allow more than a foot of space to intervene between them. And although she had received no hint from his mother that there had

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once been an important woman in his life, she knew that that dreary confession had something to do with a woman.

That and the remote, withdrawn, look she had so often seen in his eyes.

"Why?" He looked down at her bright brown head, and the slender figure in the pretty flowered frock that had once belonged to Velda. And at that very moment Velda came running downstairs with a gold lame dress over her arm, a white dressing-case in one hand and a beauty-box clutched in the other, and burst into the sitting-room with a flood of apologies for keeping the Graf waiting.

"I hope you weren't beginning to feel too impatient, Axel?" She appealed to him with her marvellous green eyes. "I'm afraid it was very boring for you waiting for me here!"

"Nothing of the sort." But he turned to her so quickly that Sue felt as if she had been brought back to reality with a cool slap on the face. "Susannah and I were having a little talk."

Velda smiled. "Was she telling you about her day with Fritz? But

it was nothing to the day I've had with you and your mother. . ." Her green eyes were starry as she turned them on her sister. "Such a wonderful day, Sue! The Grafin was so kind, and she bought me a length of ivory silk that I shall have made up into something very special. It's upstairs on my bed if you'd care to have a look at it."

"I was trying to induce your sister to change her mind and dine with us after all," Axel informed her,

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keeping his face averted from Sue in order to study the glowing apparition in the doorway.

Velda shrugged carelessly. "Oh, I wouldn't bother. Sue's terribly obstinate—as

you found out for yourself when she made such a fuss about tearing herself away from Fritz! If she says she wants to stay here she probably does. I wouldn't mind betting she's planning on giving herself a special beauty-treatment to go with that hair-do, and afterwards she'll flap round in a dressing gown and have scrambled eggs, or something of the sort."

The Graf turned once more to Sue. "Do you consider scrambled eggs sufficiently satis-

fying for an evening meal?" "If Velda says so." She knew that her lips were

tight, and she knew also that she sounded rude. "She's the cook in the house, and when she's not here we starve."

After which she left them alone in the room, and sped up the stairs to her own.

Velda ran out of the house to the car—terrified, no doubt, lest the Grafin would be upset by waiting!—but Sue had the impression that Axel lingered for a few minutes in the hall, as if he half suspected she might reappear again. But when she showed no signs of re-appearing he, too, took his departure, and the house felt very quiet and empty.

Sue made her way downstairs, queerly tormented by her inability to be consistently polite to him since the night she had received her rebuff . . . Or was it simply that she was suffering the agonies of jealousy because Velda was the one who had scored such a success, and

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it appeared that she would soon be left quite out in the cold? Her only consolation Fritz's open admiration!

She went through to the kitchen, and for the first time she saw the note that had been secured by a drawing-pin to the kitchen table. Removing the pin and opening the note she found herself confronted by a few hurriedly written lines in German, and it was only after recourse to a dictionary that she was able to translate it.

The note was from Freda, and it appeared that she had had a nasty accident, and not merely had she sus-tained a fractured ankle, but she would be quite un-able to attend to the wants of the two Misses Warren for a week or so. Her son, Ulrich, would look after the garden, and fetch the milk, but that was the maximum amount of assistance they would receive.

So far as Sue was concerned, her only reaction was pity for Freda, and a hope that she was not suffering too much pain from her ankle. But Velda's reaction would be different, she was sure. Velda would be more practical and wonder how on earth they were going to manage without Freda.

Not merely was there a wood fire to be stoked, since the only electricity in the chalet was in connection with lighting, but the cooking had to be done over the stove that was served by the wood fire. And there was scrub-bing and washing and ironing and bed-making . . . and soft fruit to be dealt with in the garden before it went rotten!

Velda would regard the soft fruit as a side-issue, but Sue thought of it at once. Freda had laboured so hard in bringing it to perfection, and now it mustn't be wasted. Tomorrow she would start picking it in

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earnest, and the day after she would bring out the pre-serving bottles and jars .. .

She found that she quite looked forward to the idea of doing -some jam-making, and as she had cooked in London she could cook here. She could even cope with the woodburning stove at a season of the year when wood-burning stoves were a bit of a trial . . . But she wondered what Velda would say when she returned from her evening at the schloss and found that there would be no Freda to serve hot coffee and rolls in the morning, and no Freda to make the descent to the village to do the shopping!

But for this unlooked for domestic crisis Sue would have gone to bed once she had had her supper, and not waited up for Velda. But in view of the develop-ment she thought she ought to let Velda know the pos-ition before she decided on a good long lie-in in the morning, and nothing to do save beautify herself until the Graf called.

The Graf, of course, escorted her back to the chalet, and it was about eleven o'clock when the car drew up outside the gate. Sue, who had been sitting reading and sub-consciously listening for it, glanced at herself hastily in the mirror to make certain she was as neat in her appearance as Velda had once declared she could never be—and she most certainly was not flap-ping about in a dressing-gown!—and then stood up when she heard the two sets of footsteps on the gravel of the pathway.

Velda, when she came in, was looking glowing and completely satisfied with herself, as Sue had expected she would do, and if the Graf was not actually glowing, he was certainly smiling and looking pleased. Velda

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pretended to be extremely surprised that Sue was still up and properly dressed—Sue had the feeling that she was also slightly annoyed, for she had expected to find the living-room unoccupied—but Axel's pleased ex-pression faded, and he expressed concern because she had had so many hours of loneliness, and it was quite unnecessary.

"Your sister assured me that you would be in bed," he said, as if he, too, had counted on her being in bed.

Sue decided to disclose her bad news without any more delay. Velda immediately looked horrified . . . and then glanced at the Graf with a faintly calculating expression in her eyes.

"But, what are we to do?" she appealed. "We can't possibly stay here if Freda isn't coming up every day! It would be too much . . . The house isn't really mod-ernized, or anything of that sort. We have a bathroom, but the kitchen is quite primitive . . . "

"Oh, no, it isn't," Sue contradicted her. "Apart from the stove it's quite a nice kitchen, and at least I know how to cope with the stove after receiving instruction from Freda. They're really the easiest stoves in the world to keep going once you get them lighted . . . "

"But to have to cook over anything so primitive, and to bring in the wood for it! I couldn't do it," Velda said decisively.

"You wouldn't have to," Sue told her. "You never do any cooking, anyway, and as I've just said I can manage very well. Poor Freda's the one we ought to feel sorry for . . . She may be unable to get about for weeks!"

Velda was about to say something explosive about Freda, when she realized her host of the evening was

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listening. He appeared to be mildly intrigued by the sisterly exchange, but so far as he was concerned there was only one answer to their problem.

"You can't attempt to stay here, of course," he said. "You must take up your quarters at the schloss."

"You mean . . . stay at the schloss?" Velda enquired, as if it was almost too much to hope that that was what he did mean.

"But, of course. Become our guests. My mother will be delighted."

Sue was appalled. "I'm quite certain that is completely unnecessary,"

she stated with the utmost decisiveness. "And 1 for one wouldn't dream of inflicting myself on your mother. Velda can do what she likes, naturally . . . But when she has a perfectly good house of her own why should she trouble you?"

Axel's eyes were almost grave as he studied her. "Because you have suddenly developed a domestic

problem, and I have supplied the answer. As a matter of fact, I have been thinking for days that the help you receive here is inadequate, and that you should remove to the schloss. We have any number of rooms that are empty at the moment, and two can be prepared without any loss of time. Tonight . . . if you would like to come back with me?"

But even Velda thought that would be unfair to the Grafin.

"I would much rather you discussed it with your mother first, and then—if she is in agreement . . ."

"I can assure you she will be in agreement. Shall I call for you tomorrow morning, a little before lunch? That will give you time to do your packing, and to make

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any arrangement you may wish to make with Frau Freda's son, Ulrich, over the maintenance of the gar-den. And I daresay he will act caretaker for you, which will rid your mind of any anxiety concerning the chalet."

Velda was delighted. "But, this is too marvellous," she declared . . . "Too

wonderful! And to think that, for one frightful moment, I saw myself getting down to back-breaking chores in the kitchen!"

Sue gazed at her in open concern. She realized that she had to make her own position clear, and now was the time if the other two were not to override her own instinctive convictions, and her natural shrinking from foisting herself on anyone.

"But it really isn't necessary to close the chalet," she urged. "Just because Freda can't come here for a few hours each day! . . . If Uncle Jeremy hadn't known Freda for years we probably wouldn't have employed her, in any case. I always thought it was an extrava-glance . . ."

Velda directed at her such a cold glare of disappro-val that her voice faded into silence.

"Whatever you may decide to do, I am going to accept Axel's extremely kind offer," she said. "And since this is really my chalet, and I have the right to close it if I wish, I might as well make up my mind here and now to close it. And that will prevent you indulging your passion for quixotic independence!"

Sue made one last appeal. "But you were going to let me stay here when you

made up your mind to go home to England. And if anything happened to Freda while I was alone here..."

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"There was never any question of your being left alone here," Velda said hastily.

The count's eyes grew dark with the same amount of displeasure that had been in them when he ordered Sue to leave his cousin's car on the road from Inns-bruck. For the first time his voice had an edge to it as he addressed her.

"Your sister is being very sensible, Susannah, so won't you please try and emulate her example? For her sake, if not for your own . . . For if you persist in being awkward she may feel that she will have to remain here with you, and that would be grossly unfair to her. You may have no objection to turning yourself into a hausfrau, but your sister's career demands that she does nothing of the kind. So please look at the situation from her point of view, and in her interests cease being obstructive!"

The cold, whiplash effect of his unconcealed criticism deprived Sue of any more power to protest. Her mouth dropped open, and she blinked her eyes a little; and then, to her horror, something pricked behind her eyes . . . A wave of abject misery rushed over her. On top of being snubbed she had been rebuked by the Graf in front of her sister! Velda would regard this as her biggest triumph so far! And it most certainly was!

Sue spoke huskily. "I'm sorry if I seem to be awkward . . . It was just

that I was anxious not to give any trouble. And it didn't seem to be quite fair to the Grafin to have us thrust on her so suddenly."

"I promise you my mother will survive," the count said dryly. Then suddenly his tone changed, and he glanced more keenly at Sue. "And I promise we will do

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our best to ensure that you enjoy your stay with us," he added more gently.

Sue tried to smile gratefully, but it was a most uncertain smile.

"I'll go to bed now," she said "You—you didn't expect to find me up, and . . . well, I'll go to bed!"

And for the second time that evening she literally fled from the sitting-room and left them alone together.

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CHAPTER NINE

IN THE morning she made no further objections to the plan of removing to the schloss, and when the car arrived for them about noon she had not merely com-pleted her own packing and undertaken the major portion of Velda's, but she had seen to it that the house was trim and neat, and everything left as Freda herself would approve.

She felt a little wistful as she wandered through the tiny house, straightening piles of magazines, shaking up cushions and putting away untidy odds and ends. Velda was the biggest offender when it came to leaving things lying about on chairs, the odd cardigan draped across the back of one, even a nylon stocking that had been invisibly mended tucked into the corner of a settee. Sue saw to it that little evidence of their brief occupation was there to offend the eye when Freda at last returned to duty, and Velda commented on her activity while they were waiting for the Graf to arrive and collect them.

"Well, at least you won't have to go round tidying up after me when we get to the schloss," she said. "The place is stiff with servants, and they'll do the job for you."

It was obvious to Sue that she was thrilled by the thought of taking up her residence in the schloss. It was also fairly clear that, once having taken up her residence, she was going to make an all-out effort to remain there . . . not simply as a guest, but as someone far more important than a guest.

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She heard herself say haltingly, because she had to know:

"Are you very much attracted by the Graf, Velda? Or is it simply and solely the glamour . . . You know, his money, the castle, his title?"

Velda directed at her one of her long looks. "What do you think?" she asked softly, at the end

of it. "You're attracted by him yourself, aren't you? It's possible he doesn't guess, for you're a funny little shut-up thing when you want to be . . . And I must warn you once more that it won't get you anywhere, anyway! You may look upon yourself as the dis-coverer, but I reap the rewards of your discovery .. . in this case!"

Sue felt seriously jarred by such a statement. It struck her as crude in the extreme.

"Aren't you forgetting Anneliese?" she asked, quietly. "She's in rather a more favoured position than you are . . . A member of the family, accustomed to the Graf's own background! How do you know you could fit very easily into that background even if you were given the opportunity?"

Velda smiled. "That would be the simplest thing of all. With my

training . . . well, I could fit into anything." "I doubt it," Sue said bluntly, because she really did

doubt it. "Marriage isn't a parade of models, you know . Even an ordinary marriage demands a lot more than

good looks and an ability to wear the right sort of clothes. Marriage to the Graf would be a full-time job, and his mother would see to it that you undertook your full share of the responsibilities. You mightn't find it so easy, getting accustomed to their way of life, leading

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a very formal existence when you're not really a for-mal person."

Velda lighted a cigarette, and then crushed it out in an ash tray.

"To hear you talk, one would think you were some kind of a sage. And you know nothing about the kind of person I am at heart . . . I've always craved to be independent, secure, settled. The life one leads as a photographic model is not my idea of heaven, I can assure you. Diets, scrambled lunches, endless posturing . . . I want to be dignified, looked up to, admired for my position, not what I look like. Looks fade in time, but a Countess von Speitz would always be a Countess von Speitz!"

"And you don't mind in the very slightest that Axel has only one arm? That he is rather badly scarred, and also he's older than you? You don't mind any of those things?"

Velda sent her another long look. "Would you? When there are so many other com-

pensations?" Sue became inarticulate for a moment. If Axel von

Speitz was scarred on both sides of his face, if in addi-tion to having only one arm he limped badly, and was ten times more morose than she knew he could be at times, to her the very thought of marrying him would always be enough to dissolve the very bones of her body, to interfere with her breathing and set her pulses racing uncontrollably. For from the very first moment that she looked up at him in his own wood, saw that slender hand on the dog's collar, that scarred cheek had appealed not to her womanly sympathy, but aroused passionate desire in her to put things right for him,

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she had been almost abject in her desire to see more and more of him

But Velda would never understand . . . Velda thought she was attracted by the material gains, just as she was, the idea of possessing a husband who was suave and elegant, poised and polished. And nothing very much else, because anything else was unimportant.

Velda frowned at her suddenly. "Listen to me, honey," she said, softly. "You've

got your boy friend, Fritz, and if you're clever you might get him to become quite serious. I've noticed the way he looks at you, and I think he likes you . . . very much! So be content with him! And as for Anneliese—" she made a gesture of contempt. "Anneliese is too colourless to attract any man for long! She may have that air of breeding you talked about, but that's all she's got."

"Except that I think she's very devoted to her cou-sin," Sue felt forced to point out.

"And so what?" from Velda. "She could have mar-ried him long ago if she'd been clever enough. She must have had endless opportunities to ensnare him somehow or other. But she's let them slip through her fingers . . . And in any case, the marriage of cousins is a bad thing. I think Axel is worth something more than a cousin for a wife!"

"And what about the—girl he was in love with once?"

"Is there any man alive who hasn't been in love with a girl—once? I wouldn't even trouble to find out about her. It was probably a sort of boy and girl affair . . . I gather he was very young. He was only twenty when he had his accident."

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Only twenty. . ? Sue felt her breath catch. And for more than ten years he had gone about with an empty sleeve!

Velda might have decided to dismiss Anneliese as too unimportant to bother about, but she hardly looked delighted when they arrived at the schloss. She greeted Sue with restraint, and a smile that was quietly friendly; but for Velda: she had nothing but the most formal handshake. As on the first occasion when Sue met her she was wearing riding clothes, and Velda's eyes appraised her outfit with the interest of one who might emulate it one day.

Fritz, on the other hand, could not have looked more delighted when they were decanted from the car. He came out into the courtyard before the open front door and saluted each of them with a Germanic kiss on the hand, and his blue eyes were dazzling in their brightness as he gazed at Sue.

"I feel I ought to visit Freda with a large bouquet of flowers to let her know how fully I appreciate her obligingness in fracturing her ankle," he said, in an aside to Sue. "Since Axel has forbidden me to take you out in a car I was beginning to wonder how I was going to contact you, and what we would do when we did meet. Now we're going to be guests under the same roof!"

Sue felt a little embarrassed by the enthusiasm of his welcome, but at the same time she experienced a sharp prick of annoyance because the Graf had taken such a high-handed attitude over the unfortunate incident of Fritz's car. Whether or not Fritz had been to blame wasn't the point . . . What was very much to the point was that if she chose to go out with Fritz it was

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nothing whatever to do with the Graf. He had no power to prevent her.

But she forgot Fritz and his car and the Graf's inter-ference when she saw her bedroom. It was the same bedroom to which she had been conducted when one of Anneliese's dresses was borrowed for her, and she had to change into it. She recognized it at once, with its pale carpet and oyster satin draperies.

Velda, who was accommodated in the room next to it—the luxurious bathroom that had so impressed Sue was to be shared by both of them—could hardly con-ceal her satisfaction because hers was an even more luxurious room. The carpet was like a soft pink cloud that had descended to earth, and above the bed the pink silk canopy was drawn up into a kind of golden apex. There was a flagon of real French perfume on her dressing-table, whereas Sue had to be content with toilet-water, and in addition to deep armchairs she had a long and comfortable couch on which to recline. She also had far more extensive wardrobe space, and a larger number of built-in drawers.

"Isn't it heavenly?" she declared, when she had had a chance to admire it, and could find the words. "And to think we can stay here for as long as we like!"

"As soon as Freda's ankle is better we'll go back to the chalet, of course," Sue stated rather than asked.

Velda glanced at her, but decided to say nothing that could lead to an argument. Instead, she went to her dressing-table and unstoppered the flagon of French perfume, and dabbed a little of it behind each of her 'ears, and on the insides of her wrists. She inhaled the fragrance ecstaticaly.

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"Fancy being able to provide extras of this sort for your guests!" she exclaimed. "The von Speitz family must be made of money!"

They went down to lunch when an echo of the gong reached their ears, and Sue found that her silence during the meal wasn't in the least remarkable, for Anneliese hardly said anything either. The conversa-tion was carried on between the Grafin, Velda and the Graf, with Fritz occasionally saying something in-tended to send their eyebrows up a little.

Afterwards coffee was poured out not by Anneliese, but by Velda. The countess invited her to do so with a charming air of conferring a favour, and as Velda was never afflicted by shyness she acquitted herself gracefully and well.

At dinner that night much the same conditions pre-vailed. Sue wore a navy-blue tie-silk dress that was really a cocktail dress, but which emphasized the pur-ity of her skin, but Velda was magnificent in emerald green. Once more she scintillated at the dinner table like the many facets of a diamond while her host and hostess looked on and approved, and afterwards she again poured out coffee in the salon, and Anneliese excused herself and went early to bed.

Sue felt the departure of the countess's niece so keenly that she actually flushed a little when it occurred. Fritz glanced across at her and inclined his head in the direction of the terrace outside the win-dows, and she rose almost eagerly to accompany him from the room.

Outside, in the cool night air, she listened while he uttered his first really sharp condemnation of her sister.

"Hasn't she any of the finer feelings?" he enquired. 124

His handsome eyes were glittering a little with annoy-ance, and his mouth looked hard. "My sister has been fussing over my aunt ever since we came here, nearly a month ago, and presiding at the coffee tray is her special prerogative. Surely that insensitive female—" He apologized quickly. "I'm sorry, I know she's your only close relative, but she's typical of a type I can't stand at any price. A kind of animated clothes-horse full of burning ambition . . . And otherwise as empty as a drum! I'm amazed that Axel invited her here as well as yourself. Why on earth didn't he suggest that she went back to her modelling?"

Sue blushed painfully, under cover of the darkness. "I'm afraid we're both taking the basest advantage

of your aunt's kindness. There was no need at all for us to come here . . . We could have continued quite easily at the chalet. In fact, I wanted to do so .. ."

"My little sweet," he said, softly, taking her by both shoulders and holding her in a quietly possessive grip, "don't talk such utter nonsense! You are as welcome as flowers in May . . . In fact, you are far more wel-come! If only we could separate you from your sister I would have nothing whatever to complain about tonight, and those stars up there would seem ten times as bright as they actually are. But the thought of having to live with a photographic model for the next few weeks—"

"I'm sorry," Sue said, stiffly, awkwardly, unable to think of anything to say that could excuse Velda's conduct in a house where, as yet, she was nothing but a stranger. "But your aunt should remember that Anneliese is her niece, and not pass her over quite so

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obviously just because another visitor has come to the schloss."

"Darling, my aunt is a law unto herself, and she does the things she wants to do, and never the things she ought to do. At the moment she has an idea that Axel is interested in the bewitching Velda, and as he hasn't displayed the smallest amount of interest in any female for years she is going all out to work up his interest. She's dying for him to marry and provide her with a grandson, and it's a case of 'any port in a storm' . . . Although that's entirely the wrong simile, of course."

"And you, yourself, would like Anneliese to marry the Graf, is that it?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I don't care who marries the Graf, so long as my

sister isn't slighted. Personally I'd have said he's un-likely to marry anyone since he hasn't done so before this."

Sue hesitated a moment, and then risked a question she felt she had no real right to ask.

"Perhaps there's a reason why he hasn't married before this?" she suggested. "A reason apart from his disability, I mean."

Fritz looked down at her and smiled a little pecu-liarly.

"Perhaps," he agreed. "They say there's a reason for everything that happens in this world, so why shouldn't Axel have a reason for not marrying?"

The door behind them opened, and Velda and the Graf emerged, Velda actually clinging lightly to her host's one arm.

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In the mixture of moonlight and starlight she smiled as if her cup of happiness was almost, if not quite, full.

"We thought we'd like a breath of fresh air," she said. Her smile glanced off Sue, and attempted to dazzle Fritz. "How romantic you two look standing there, with those wonderful high peaks soaring above you! You also look as if you were having a very earnest conversation."

"We were," Fritz assured her, his white teeth gleam-ing in a kind of cold amusement. "So earnest that we wouldn't dare to let you in on it!"

For an instant the smile faded from her face, and she met the derisive, taunting blue eyes with dawning recognition in her own that he was not her friend .. . that he was very far from being an admirer. And then she put back her head so that the lovely line of her throat showed up clearly in the moonlight, and she said sweetly to Sue:

"Aren't I lucky? Axel is going to show me all his treasures tomorrow, including the view from his own private suite. I believe it's in a tower somewhere," glancing about her vaguely and obviously looking for the tower.

Sue felt slightly startled, and as if drawn by a mag-net her eyes went to the Graf. While she looked at him—and he looked back at her, quite unsmilingly—she felt as if she had been magically transferred to that deep balcony outside his sitting-room window, and the mountain backcloth was rocking a little, just as it had done when she actually stood on it.

Fritz pointed out the tower for Velda'a benefit. 127

"There it is," he said, "Axel's retreat! . . . Why wait until tomorrow to admire the view? On such a night as this it will take your breath away!" And to Sue's aston-ishment she found that he was looking at her, with a meaning curve to his lips and a slightly enquiring lift of one eyebrow, as if he was inviting her to corroborate the statement.

And from her he looked at his cousin, also mean-ingly, but with nothing noticeably friendly in the look.

Then he took Sue by the arm. "Come along, Sue, let's go and admire our own

view! Or find a view to admire!" As soon as -they were out of earshot of the others he

slackened his steps, and Sue perforce did the same. This time, when he looked down at her, there was curiosity in his eyes.

"There wasn't any mistake, was there," he enquired, "about that shot in the dark? Axel did take you up to his tower that night when you dined here for the first time?"

Sue admitted that she had been taken up to the tower.

Fritz nodded thoughtfully. "I was fairly certain of it," he said. "I saw you both

coming away from it, and I remember feeling distinctly surprised."

"Why?" Sue asked, also surprised. Fritz made his favourite little shrugging movement

with his shoulders. "It's unlike Axel to throw his own private apart-

ments open to the public, if you follow my meaning. I know he has occasionally shown visitors the view in

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the daytime, but never at night. The tower is sacrosanct at night!" .

Slowly Sue realized what he was trying to drive home to her. By being permitted to enter the tower at night she had been highly honoured!

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CHAPTER TEN

SUE wakened on her first morning in the Schloss Speitz to a certain amount of confusion because she couldn't think where she was.

She had slept badly, not because the bed was un-comfortable—as a matter of fact, it was superbly com-fortable—but because her mind was in such a curious turmoil that it kept sleep at bay. But, even so, she awakened early, and she lay looking at her dressing-gown hanging on the gleaming, white-painted door, at the dressing-table burdened by its array of toilet articles, and the long, flowing curtains before the win-dows, and a little frown of perplexity knitted her brows.

Then it all came back to her . . . They had moved into the schloss the day before, and she was a guest of the man who owned it.

She slipped out of bed and crossed to the nearest window and drew back the curtains. It must be very early, for although the sky was clear there was no gilding of the peaks against it, and the exquisite fresh-ness' that follows the dawn. She stepped out on to her balcony, and stood shivering a little in a nylon night-dress, and inhaling the fragrance of roses. Her bedroom was on a side of the schloss that overlooked the gardens, and the tranquil greenness of the lawns was in itself a reward for deserting the comfort of her bed.

She decided to dress hurriedly and to go out and explore that cool world , of heady scents that was over-looked by mountains, and although she didn't expect to meet anyone she dressed carefully nevertheless.

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Velda's navy-blue tailored slacks, and her chunky white sweater, and a quick combing of her hair . . . and a light application of lipstick.

She ran into a little difficulty on trying to leave the house, for there were so many corridors criss-crossing one another, and she had to find her way to a side exit, for she was fairly certain the main door would still be barred. At last she found a staircase leading down to a low, arched exit that admitted her to a court-yard, and from this courtyard she soon found her way into another that appeared to be lined with stable quarters.

There were half-doors, and handsome chestnut heads protruding from more than one of them, and a loud whistling from a fair-haired youth engaged in curry-combing. Then she saw Anneliese and Fritz round an angle of one of the buildings, and Anneliese was wearing her white jodhpurs, and Fritz, too, was dressed for the saddle. They had no idea that she was watching them as they mounted and rode away out of the court-yard, each looking well pleased by the company of the other, and headed for the broad avenue that led into the woods.

For one moment, before they disappeared from her sight, Sue felt envious of them and their ability to do things she had never done. For she had never yet ridden a horse, and she considered it was extremely unlikely she would ever do so.

Horse-riding was not the sort of relaxation that went hand in hand with a small London bookshop, and a two-roomed flat in the Fulham Road.

Having watched the riders out of sight, she returned under the arch to the first courtyard, and then made

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her way by means of various doors set in walls to the garden on to which her own window looked. It was a beautifully shut-in garden, cloistered and peaceful, especially at that early hour of the morning. The dew sparkled on the grass, and the colourful rose beds were bright with diamond drops also. The first shaft of sun-light that fell across them seemed to bring them to life, the glowing crimsons and yellows, deep pinks and paler pinks discovering an extra arresting beauty that was almost heartwarming to Sue.

She felt that she could wander in this secluded place all day, doing nothing but admiring the flowers, and drawing deep breaths of their intoxicating perfume.

She was quite literally doing this very thing; and stooping to within an inch of a glorious Madame Meilland, when a voice spoke to her from a distance of a bare few feet.

"You are up early, Susannah! Do you normally go in for such early rising?"

Sue turned, and felt slightly abashed when she dis-covered that the Graf was standing watching her. Like her he was wearing a thick wool sweater, and it was the first time she had seen him in casual attire.

She coloured quickly. "Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I do," she answered.

"But perhaps not quite as early as this." She glanced up at the mountain peaks, turning to gold with the rising of the sun. "What time is it? Six o'clock? Half-past?"

"It isn't yet half-past five," he surprised her by replying. And then, studying her face critically: "Did you sleep well? Was it perhaps because you couldn't sleep that you got up so early?"

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She shook her head . . . quite unwilling to admit to him that she had lain awake half the night.

"My bed was wonderfully comfortable, and I had a very good night."

"And everything else in your room is as you would like it to be? There is nothing lacking?"

She couldn't refrain from smiling a little as she an-swered this time.

"Velda and I share a bedroom in London, and it isn't half the size of the room you have given me," she told him. "And it most certainly isn't as luxurious. I have never slept in such luxury in the whole of my life."

He smiled, and it was the first time he had smiled at her in quite such a fashion . . . If the sun hadn't been shining directly into her eyes, dazzling her a little, and thus accounting for a certain amount of distortion, she would have said that her imagination conjured up the surprising hint of tenderness that stole to the corners of his mouth.

"You haven't lived a very long time yet," he remin-ded her. "The whole of your life is before you . . . I won't say I hope you will sleep even more luxuriously yet, but I certainly hope that the future holds every-thing of the best for you."

"Thank you," she returned, a little startled as well as surprised. "That is nice of you." She was about to add, "Herr Graf," when she realized he was watching her with amusement in his eyes.

"Can't you make it Axel very occasionally?" he suggested. "I know you said you couldn't imagine yourself calling me Axel, but you could try. And it's much less of a mouthful than Herr Graf."

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She heard herself laugh suddenly, and quite natur-ally.

"All right," she said, "Axel! . . . " Then she flushed more brilliantly than before. "You, too, are up very early," she remarked, for something to say.

He glanced towards her window. For a moment he said nothing, but he shrugged.

"In the mountains we usually rise early," he explain-ed. "Anneliese and Fritz have probably gone riding already, and they do that every morning during their stay here."

She didn't think it necessary to admit that she had seen his cousins setting off for their morning ride, but —once more for something to say, rather than out of any genuine curiosity—she asked:

"Do they stay here very often? Anneliese seems very devoted to your mother. Fritz is rather more restless, but I suppose he enjoys it here as well."

Axel's expression grew a little dry. "Fritz comes here because he likes comfort, and

what you call luxury, and his allowance isn't big enough to enable him to provide it for himself. At any rate, not yet. One day he will have more money, and then I've no doubt we shall see little of Fritz."

Which sounded as if his opinion of Fritz was not very high.

"And Anneliese?" she asked. "Will she have more money one day?"

"Only if she marries well." He bent, and—with a pocket knife—severed the Madame Meilland she had been admiring from its stem, and handed it to her. Sue's face lighted up with pleasure, and she inhaled the per-fume ecstatically. She found it difficult to express her

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thanks, perhaps because she was seized by so many ridiculous sensations of gratification, and once more his smile held a half quizzical tenderness as he gazed at her.

"If you like roses, you must have as many as you want in your room," he told her. "I will ask the gar-dener to cut you an outsize bunch."

Then, suddenly, the smile and the quizzicalness vanished from his face, and his voice lost its note of lightness.

"Susannah," he said urgently, "there is something I want to ask you. Two nights ago, when we were at the chalet, you appeared to be very much upset for no reason that I could think of. It was after we had decided that you should come here to the schloss, and I had tried to make you look at the situation from the point of view of your sister. You seemed suddenly confused, and I was horrified because your eyes were bright with tears!"

"You—you must have imagined it," she said hastily, not daring to meet his eyes, and burying her face in her rose. "I . . . Why should I shed tears because we were invited here to the schloss?"

"I don't think the schloss had anything to do with it," he replied, very quickly. "But the fact that Velda and I must both have appeared to be a little annoyed with you could have accounted for them . . . "

She strove to treat the matter lightly. "Velda is often annoyed with me, as you know. She

thinks I'm a very irritating person at times. And no doubt I am. I'm exactly the opposite of all the things she is, and it vexes her."

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"So far as my observation has served me," he re-marked, "you are certainly very different from your sister . . . But I wouldn't like to have to state with authority precisely where the differences lie. Your looks are very different, of course—"

"I know that," she interposed, ruefully. "Do you?" For an instant the quizzicalness returned.

"Velda is very beautiful, and you have a great deal of charm. But I think that you undervalue yourself, and therefore it hampers the charm."

"Velda has both beauty and charm," she declared, determined to praise her sister.

He glanced away from her at the mountain peaks, and when he spoke there was undoubted emphasis in his voice.

"She certainly has! It would be impossible not to be dazzled by her beauty, and to know her is to realize how exceptionally feminine she is . . . Only once before in my life have I met anyone who could even remotely touch her for those two very qualities . . . A quite exceptional loveliness, and a delight in being feminine! Do you suppose that the possessors of that wonderful red hair have some additional quality which other women lack?"

Sue felt as if for the first time she had been provided with a key to a puzzle.

"Then, the—this other woman whom you knew—years ago—also had red hair?"

He removed his eyes from the peaks, and they appeared to her to be gleaming strangely.

"She liked to call it auburn," he admitted, "but it was pure titian. And it's quite true, I did know her

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years ago . . . nearly fourteen years, as a matter of fact. But, how did you know?"

"I—only guessed," Sue replied, in confusion. As if he had forgotten her presence he stooped and

cut another rose—a dark red one this time—and instead of parting with it he retained it in his own slim brown fingers.

"Fourteen years is a long time," he observed, "but some things—some incidents, some people—in one's life, are difficult to forget. As the years pass they cease to be a part of the past, and become an ever-present, nagging memory. One is never really without them."

"I thought Time softened everything that happened in the past," Sue remarked, sure now of the reason why he was attracted to Velda. It wasn't merely what she herself had to offer, it was because she had the power to bring memory to life!

Sue suddenly felt a little sick, actually physically sick.

The dark, fathomless eyes of the Graf gazed at her. "Time is a softener," he admitted, "but not an

obliterator." Sue glanced around the rose garden as if it contained

demons that could haunt her, and she was most anxious to get away from them. She had the feeling that they were rising up from behind every bush and attacking her with sharp little thorns.

"Well, I'd better go back to my room and change and have a bath," she said. "The sun is getting hot . . ." She glanced up at it vaguely, not really feeling any warmth from it.

"Breakfast will be brought to your room," Axel informed her, once more the polite and attentive host.

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"My mother always breakfasts in her room, and when-ever we have guests they usually do the same. Later in the day I have promised Velda, as you know, that I will show her over the castle, but later still we might all go for a drive . . . You have a lot to see yet of this part of the world."

"That will be nice," Sue managed, before she finally escaped. Just before she left the rose garden she glanced back to see if he was watching her, but he was studying the red rose he still held in his hand, and as if he felt that it needed a companion he stooped and cut a white one. With the two- roses in his hand he walked back to his own quarters.

Later in the day they went for the drive, and Sue enjoyed it in a detached kind of way. Velda was thoroughly happy, and lay back against the cushioned back of the car as if it was her rightful element.

Later still Fritz took Sue to the stables to show her the horses. Anneliese accompanied them, and was quite strong in her support of him when he said that she must learn to ride.

"Why, you're missing one of the best things in life if you can't ride," he said. He introduced her to a little mare, sleek as a polished chestnut itself, and with a pair of white forefeet. "Grizel is as gentle as a doe," he declared, "and she'll carry you beautifully. In the morning I'll see that you're roused in good time, and we'll put you through your paces."

"But I haven't any riding clothes," Sue objected, by no means certain—in spite of her earlier wish to become a horsewoman—that she wanted to be put through her paces.

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"Don't worry about that," Anneliese said at once, so very friendly now that Sue was amazed. "I'll lend you everything you need. You wore one of my dresses before, and it fitted you perfectly, do you remember?"

Of course Sue remembered. She remembered every detail of that day as if it was literally engraved on her memory . . . Which surely meant that she had some-thing in common with the Graf, at least?

In the morning she was aroused by a shower of gravel flung against her window. When she looked out she saw Anneliese and Fritz standing under it. Anne-liese had a spare pair of jodhpurs and a sweater over her arm, and she called out:

"May I come up? I've got some things for you to wear, and I'll help you dress. The boots may prove the wrong fit, and if so you can wear a pair of your own shoes."

But both the boots and the jodhpurs fitted perfectly, and the sweater—which Sue didn't really need, for she had several of her own—was a delicate pastel yellow.

"Do wear it," Anneliese urged, "for it suits you. You ought to wear a lot of yellow, for it makes you look like a daffodil, or a primrose. It's something about your eyes, I expect, and those golden lights in your hair."

"I've only recently discovered the golden lights," Sue admitted, honestly. "The hairdresser in Innsbruck brought them to life for me."

Anneliese smiled at the franknesss. All in pale cream she looked rather like a delicate spring flower herself.

"I know that hairdresser," she said. "I go to him myself . . . He's good."

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Outside, Fritz waited for them a little impatiently, and in a very short time they were down at the stables. The sun was just rising, and it was like drawing in draughts of heady wine just to breathe the air. She felt a tingle of unfamiliar excitement as she watched the little mare led out to her, and once hoisted into its saddle she felt surprisingly confident. Anneliese and Fritz ranged themselves one on each side of her, and the three of them trotted under the arch and on to the main drive.

Fritz was careful to keep very close to her, while Anneliese forged ahead. He kept tight hold of the leading rein which was one of the reasons why Sue was able to feel such confidence, and it was only when they had left the drive and were in a level part of the woods that the leading rein was abandoned, and Sue was able to decide whether or not she was a natural born horsewoman.

Fritz declared enthusiastically that she was, and Anneliese waved delightedly and cantered off down a green ride that was laced with golden bars of sunshine and full of the eager choruses of birds. Sue watched her disappear with admiration in her eyes for the grace of the slender figure and the sleek sides of her own particular bay, and she didn't realize that when the ride ended there was a sheer drop which Anneliese thought nothing at all about, and skirted with the skill of one born without fear of drops, and a natural affiliation with horses.

For that first lesson Fritz contented himself with correcting Sue's seat in the saddle, explaining the im-portance of her knees, and correcting any tendency to clutch at the reins and lean forward over the horse's

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neck and embrace it in moments of panic. Actually, there were very few moments of panic, and Sue sat very well once she had been severely rebuked for slouching like a sack of potatoes.

"A very attractive sack of potatoes," Fritz softened the criticism by adding, smiling at her with his blue eyes. "In fact, an exceptionally attractive sack of po-tatoes! . . . That much I am prepared to admit!" Then, on their way home, when that first lesson had lasted about three-quarters-of-an-hour, he advised her: "I wouldn't say anything about learning to ride until we can boast that you're, really doing well. We'll go in by a side entrance to avoid being seen."

The next morning, and the next, Sue was awakened by the shower of gravel flung against her windows, and on the fourth morning she needed no shower of gravel to awaken her. By this time she had recovered from the soreness of learning to sit a horse, and eager to prove that she had benefited from all the instruction she had received, she was dressed and waiting when her two mentors appeared underneath her window.

By this time, also, she was on excellent terms with Anneliese, and Fritz declared himself proud of her. Grizel was a most obedient and amiable little mare, and as she mounted and rode away Sue felt grateful to all three of them for providing her with some highly necessary distraction when she most needed it.

"The next thing I'll do for you, my beautiful," Fritz promised her, "is teach you to drive a car." As usual Anneliese raced ahead of them through the dim aisles of the forest, and he kept pace more soberly at Sue's side. "Axel is so taken up with your enchanting sister that he won't remember he put my car out of bounds

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for you, and, in any case, he's your host, not your keeper. What do you say, liebling? Would you like to drive?"

Sue was always a little embarrassed when he called her darling in that caressing but familiar way, and knowing that she was quite unlikely to possess a car of her own—within the foreseeable future, at anyrate-she didn't think there was very much point in her learning to drive. But she had made the discovery that the two young von Speitzes were great enthusiasts when it came to a cause they wished to champion, and heartily as they both disliked Velda—since her arrival at the schloss Anneliese went out of her way to avoid the glamorous model from London—they appeared almost equally attracted to Sue. And since they were a little like golden-headed limpets which would cling on tenaciously while their interest remained fixed it was not going to be easy to escape any plans they formed for her.

So Sue simply said cautiously that she would like to learn to drive one day, but perhaps it wasn't the ideal time while she was a guest at the schloss.

"The Graf and his mother are being very kind to me," she said diffidently, "and I wouldn't like to offend either of them."

"Rubbish!" Fritz exclaimed, in the high-handed manner she was beginning to associate with him. "The Graf and my aunt couldn't be anything other than kind to you when you're staying here. And don't forget that, but for the fact that they couldn't separate you from your sister, you might not be staying here!"

That was so true—as Sue now knew—that she couldn't even attempt to disprove his argument. And

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seeing that he had scored a point Fritz was content to leave the subject of her next set of lessons to a later date.

When they were halfway up the drive to the schloss, after emerging from the woods, he suggested a brisk canter as soon as they reached the final rise. By this time Sue was quite capable of cantering alone, and she chose to forget the leafy abyss on one side of the drive. As the other two literally hurled themselves and their mounts under the arch and into the stable yard she was not many paces behind, and her cheeks were glowing and her eyes bright with success when Fritz swung himself out of his saddle and came to help her dismount.

"You did well, liebling," he applauded, and then was almost as startled as Sue herself by the sight of the Graf emerging with Velda from one of the loose-boxes. At the moment he emerged his face was smiling and perfectly serene, but it altered in a matter of seconds. A black fury seemed to disfigure it so that Sue hardly recognized it, and the same fury altered his voice as he demanded an explanation from his cousin.

"I understood that Susannah couldn't ride," he said. "It appears now that she rides very well! Who has been teaching her?"

Fritz answered immediately. "I have." His cousin subjected him to a look of utter con-

tempt. "You would," he returned. "It apparently didn't

occur to you that this is not the kind of country in which a young woman unused to horses should begin

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to learn to ride them. There will be no more lessons, do you understand?"

Fritz grinned a little. "No more lessons are necessary," he assured the

Graf in an unabashed tone. "Sue already rides like a bird."

To Sue's astonishment Velda spoke up for her, slipping a hand inside the Graf's arm and looking up at him with an attractive coaxing expression on her face.

"I must say I was very impressed when I saw her come under the arch just now," she admitted. "Surely it's all right for her to ride if Fritz is convinced she can manage her mount? Be reasonable, Axel! Sue isn't a baby!" "And, in any case, the mare is mine," Anneliese spoke up, with a cool eye on her cousin. "If Susannah wishes to ride her while she is here I shall be happy to let her do so."

Axel, who was normally very punctilious and cour-teous in his attitude towards his girl cousin—often unusually gentle at times, as if he was aware of her deep affection for him, and was sorry he couldn't return it—subjected her to the same frozen look of disapproval that he had directed at her brother, and then seemed to become aware of Velda's hand clasping his sleeve.

He had no spare hand with which to remove it, but he succeeeded in detaching himself from her without appearing either rude or impatient, and then turned his back on all of them and strode towards the schloss.

Anneliese explained:

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"My cousin is rather sensitive about horse-riding. He had a bad accident, you know."

Velda stood biting her lower lip, and staring after the Graf.

"But that shouldn't make him touchy about anyone like Sue learning to ride . . ." she began. Then she shrugged, directed an irritated look at Sue, and turned towards the rose garden. "Well, I suppose it's a bit of a nightmare still, the memory of his accident. He feels responsible for people when they're staying here."

"Particularly people like Sue," Fritz said, softly, and Velda turned with arched brows to study him in aston-ishment.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked. Fritz shrugged. "Nothing," he replied. "Except that Sue is rather

small, and very feminine. Axel no doubt feels she ought to be protected. You'll remember how angry he was when she risked her neck in my car?"

Velda, who was a graceful five feet ten in her stock-inged feet, looked suddenly undisguisedly bad-temper-ed.

"Sue gets under his skin," she returned tartly. "I'm sure he thinks she's very stupid at times."

"At times," Fritz echoed her, "she undoubtedly is! Aren't you, darling?" turning and beaming at Sue as if he liked stupid young women who looked exactly as she did.

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

FOR the next week the rides continued, although Sue made several attempts to be firm and insist that they be discontinued because her host objected.

"Don't be silly," Fritz chided her. "For one thing, Axel objected to your having any more lessons, and you are not having lessons now—you are my apt pupil who has proved herself worthy of a little coaching! And if you are to allow Axel, who has no rights over your movements whatsoever, to order your life for you, even for the short while that you are here, then you will be very foolish! You didn't want to come here, and you are an exemplary guest apart from the fact that you occasionally require a little diversion, so what are you worrying about?"

"I'm not worrying at all," Sue replied untruthfully, for she worried constantly about the reason why the Graf sought to lay his instructions on her without offering any real explanation of why he was doing so. The' car she could understand, for Fritz, she was afraid, was rather a reckless driver . . . But if Anneliese rode, why shouldn't she?

She was not Velda, whom he personally escorted everywhere as if she was too precious to be let out of his sight. And it was no doubt the thought of Velda, with her arm inside the Graf's arm, and her familiar use of his Christian name, that induced her to listen to Fritz's arguments rather than fall in with her host's wishes.

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After all, he was only her host . . . Whatever he thought of Velda she, Sue, was only a very unimpor-tant guest, and she had a right to some exercise if nothing else while she was at the schloss. She had given up the life she enjoyed leading at the chalet because she was accused of being obstructive, and surely if she kept well out of the way of her sister and the Graf she was falling in with their mutual wishes?

She was very sure the countess would raise no objec-tion if she went riding and driving with Fritz every day in the week during her stay. It would make it less necessary for the hostess to think of means of keeping the younger guest entertained.

So—save on the one or two occasions when there was morning mist, and the weather was not suitable—Sue permitted herself to be roused out of her bed before the sun rose to go riding in the woods with the two young von Speitzes, and so far as she knew no one else in the schloss saw them set off, and certainly no one commented on these continued early morning excursions.

The rest of each day was passed by Sue in wandering in the rose garden, wandering with Fritz on the terrace at night, listening to him playing the accordion—which he did very well—improving her German with the aid of Anneliese, and meeting them all at meal times.

Velda hardly found time to talk to her, so much of it was passed with the Graf. And when the odd visitor drove under the arch to lunch with them, or occasion-ally to dine, Velda queened it as if she already had an accepted position in the household, and she had no fear at all that she was making a mistake.

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At the end of the second week she sought Sue out in great excitement, and told her that Axel and his mother had made up their minds to take them with them on a short visit to Vienna. They would stay at the von Speitz family house, do a theatre or two, visit, the opera, and then return to the schloss.

That was on the morning that Sue found herself deliberately detained by the Graf, and asked somewhat bluntly why she seized every opportunity to avoid him. She hadn't realized before that she did seize every opportunity to keep well out of his way, but on being taxed with the discourtesy—and it was obviously con-sidered a discourtesy to a host!—she felt unable to defend herself since she knew all at once that it was true.

"In the mornings you ride with Fritz and Anneliese —" so he did know after all that she was running counter to his wishes!—"and the rest of the day you divide almost equally between Anneliese and Fritz! I can understand the attractions of anyone as young and engaging as Fritz," with great dryness, "and I'm glad that Anneliese seems to have found a friend after her own heart! But, surely, sometimes, instead of avoiding me, you might stop and exchange a few simple words with me!"

Sue flushed brilliantly, and avoided his eyes. "I'm sure I don't avoid you," she said, awkwardly.

"And if I do—or if I seem to do .so!—it isn't in the least intentional."

"Isn't it?" His dark eyes were watching her almost gravely. "Not even when you take the opposite path as soon as you see me coming? Not even when you prefer Fritz to hand you a drink in the salon, and seem to

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seek his protection when we return to the salon in the evenings? As I've said, I realize that Fritz is young and active, and that he's in no way handicapped—"

Sue was suddenly appalled. That he should even for one moment think she would avoid him because he was not whole and as unhampered as Fritz shocked her so completely that she forgot to avoid his eyes, and made an all out effort to convince him that he had arrived at entirely the wrong conclusions, and he couldn't be more wrong.

"Why, I hardly ever remember that you've only got one arm . . ." she began; but he prevented her betray-ing herself hopelessly by lifting his one slender hand and begging her not to become so upset about any-thing so trifling.

"Your sister has explained to me a lot of things about you that I might not otherwise have understood," he said, gently. "I think she thought it might save me—well, possible embarrassment . . ."

"Embarrassment?" Sue could only stare at him. "Yes. But don't, please, let it, upset you! Fourteen

years ago I'd have probably felt the same as you do .. . In fact, I think I did! That's one reason why I've made such heavy weather of accepting my disability, and why I become unbearably touchy when anyone unhappily touches on the subject while my guard is slightly down! You'll remember how I bit you that first night when you dined here, and you suddenly became very fem-inine and sympathetic?"

Sue felt as if she was wallowing in a sea of bewil-derment.

"I was feminine and sympathetic because I can't imagine myself being anything else in the circumstan-

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ces," she informed him a little dryly. "Surely any wo-man—in the same circumstances . . ."

"Precisely," he interrrupted her, with just a touch of curtness. "That's what I mean! Any woman would feel sympathy for a one-armed man, and you displayed that sympathy almost beautifully. I'll remember you tried to console me about the scar on my face . . . You said that scars sometimes fade!"

"So they do," she reiterated. "It's not at all an un-common thing for a scar to fade after a number of years."

"But in the meantime, it's an offence to sensitive people . . . like you," he concluded, quietly. "And who should blame you for being so very sensitive? Certainly I don't!"

Before Sue could attempt to get to the bottom of this astounding accusation that had been levelled at her his mother appeared and took' him possessively by the arm and said that she wanted to show Velda some selections of family snapshots that he kept locked away in his tower rooms, and would he please go and get their so that she could show them to Velda.

Sue would have given . anything if she could have detained him just them, but the Grafin merely smiled at her as if- she was utterly unimportant, and Axel obeyed her request. Sue wandered out through the open french windows on to the terrace, and she had no opportunity to talk seriously to her host again that day. And in the morning something happened that put the subject of her unsuspected weakness right out of the picture, and Velda's revelations concerning her had to remain undisclosed.

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Grizel, the little mare which Sue managed with a fair amount of ease, had something wrong with one of her snowy forefeet, and Anneliese insisted that Sue ride her mare, which was also fairly tractable, while she herself selected something more spirited from the stables.

It didn't matter to Anneliese what she rode; she was quite fearless once she was in the saddle, and even if a mount had a tendency to viciousness she knew how to control it. In fact, she confessed lightly to the English girl, a bad-tempered mount introduced a little spice into the morning ride, and made it more enjoyable.

Sue knew this was an attitude of mind she would never achieve in connection with horses, and she gave Anneliese a wide berth when they started out from the schloss. They had no reason to believe that Sophia, Anneliese's chosen mount, had any real tendency to viciousness, but on a narrow mountain track a display of sprightliness could upset anyone who was following behind, and when that someone was new like Sue to the pleasures of equine exercise it was sound policy to keep out of reach of kicking hoofs and an arched, satin-smooth neck, in case the infection spread.

Fritz, by this time, was not as attentive as he had been in the beginning, and believing that Sue by this time was quite capable of managing on her own, he frequently followed his sister's example and shot ahead down one of the green rides when they entered the woods. This was all right when the amiable Grizel was carrying Sue, but Anneliese's mare was a different matter.

From the moment she was helped up on to her Sue sensed the difference. Talida, the mare, was not happy,

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and she became less happy as the morning advanced She thought Sue a poor exchange for Anneliese, and she wanted to get rid of her as quickly as possible. To this end she tossed her head and betrayed every sign of nervousness as Sue strove to reassure her and keep her trotting smoothly.

A good many lengths ahead of her Fritz called back: "Everything all right?" " And Sue answered a trifle breathlessly, "Yes. I .. .

Yes, I think so!" But in a short while she became so certain that

everything was very far from being all right that her agitation communicated itself to the mare, and Talida went temporarily berserk and determined to join the others. Despite Sue's efforts to prevent her getting the bit between her teeth she shot down the ride, flashed past Fritz, and drew abreast of Anneliese; and things might have gone smoothly from that stage onwards if something hadn't fluttered in the branches above them, startled Talida to such an extent that she panicked afresh, and sent her careering madly down what was left of the ride.

Whether she had become so accustomed to the routine of the morning ride, and would have swerved in good time to avoid the drop that would almost cer-tainly have broken her neck, and Sue's as well, and eventually returned to the schloss in a calmer frame of mind, neither of the two who looked on could have been certain about; and Sue was in no condition to care very much as she forgot all the instruction she had received and clung for dear life to the little mare's neck.

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And, in any case, the period of acute anxiety was short . . . One moment she was bobbing about like a sack of potatoes on Talida's back, and the next she had shot clean over her head and was lying quietly in a thicket of lush green grass.

She must have been unconscious for several minutes, for when she opened her eyes and looked vaguely about her not merely were Anneliese and Fritz bending over her anxiously, but someone else had joined them and was also bending over her. She had an impression of a white, set face very close to her own, of a slightly indistinct voice ordering the other two to get out of his way, and then the same voice spoke to her and called her by her name.

"Susannah! Susannah! . . . Sue! Little one!" The voice was so choked and full of concentrated feeling that Sue hardly recognized it, and it was only when she managed to get his face into focus that she recognized the Graf. And after that she was so amazed that it deprived her of the ability to reassure him.

"My poor little one, are you all right? Are you merely winded, or do you feel any pain?" He uttered a flood of German, as if his English failed him at such a critical moment, and Sue realized the moment had arrived to let them all three know that she was still all in one piece, and so long as she lay still, at any rate, nothing hurt.

"I'm all right," she gasped, managed to lift herself, and repeated: "I'm all right!"

Axel was down on his knees beside her, and his one good arm provided her with support.

"Are you sure, liebling?" he asked huskily.

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Sue turned her face towards him and met the dark-ness of his eyes—such an intense and almost fluid darkness that the fantastic notion crossed her mind that, if they were lakes of dark and velvety water, she would be happy to swim in them. And then perhaps they would lighten a little and some of the shadowing anxiety dissolve as if at the kiss of the sun!

"Quite . . . sure," she managed, although she actually winced a little when she made a determined effort to desert the support of his arm and sit upright. "At least, I will be in a short—while. At the moment I'm feeling a bit bruised and bewildered . . . nothing more!"

The Graf drew a long breath, and she realised it was a breath of relief . . . almost exquisite relief.

"You are lucky to be bruised and bewildered . . . and to be alive!" he said, with so much soberness in his voice that she suddenly felt very sober herself, and the idea of swimming about in dark brown lakes faded.

"Yes, I suppose I am," she agreed, almost as sob-erly. Then she looked about her in sudden anxiety. "Talida . . .? Is she all right?"

It was Fritz who answered her this time, bending down to her eagerly.

"Yes, she's quite all right, honey." The Americanism sounded odd to her, since his Austrian accent was very strong . . . Which proved that he, as well as the Graf, had known more than one moment of pure anxiety on her behalf. "The little beast stopped short before she was in any real danger herself, and at the moment I feel strongly that she ought to be shot. But, why in the world did you give her her head?"

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"Yes, why?". Anneliese demanded. "Talida is as docile as a kitten normally, but you were strange and she shouldn't have been given her head. . ."

"These interesting technical details can be discussed later," the Graf broke in in a tone as brittle as glass. "In the meantime Susannah is in no condition to dis-cuss them."

By this time she was standing leaning shakily up against him, and his arm was in an attitude of almost fierce protectiveness across her shoulders.

"Fritz, go back to the schloss as quickly as you can and bring a car back here," he ordered. "Susannah can't possibly walk the distance between here and the schloss."

"I could take her up in front of me on my horse . . ." Fritz offered, and then wished he hadn't. His cousin's look practically withered him

"That is something you will not do," the Graf said quietly, giving emphasis to each word. "And when I say 'bring a car back here' I don't mean drive it your-self . . . If Kurt is not available get Anton."

"As you wish," Fritz returned, a little wryly, smiled even more wryly at Sue, and then climbed back on to his horse. Anneliese looked anxiously at Sue, brushed the grass and the leaves from her jodhpurs and her sweater with her own hands, and then offered her her handkerchief to wipe the smears from her cheek.

"Shall I stay with you until the car comes?" she en-quired, a little diffidently, of her cousin. "Or shall I go ahead and ring Dr. Muller in Sachsnau and get him to come over as soon as he can?"

"I don't need a doctor," Sue said faintly, feeling odd and slightly sick even as she spoke.

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The Graf disagreed with her. "Yes, do that, Anneliese," he approved quietly,

almost appreciatively. And, a second or so later, he and Sue were alone in

the wood.

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CHAPTER TWELVE

THEY were not alone for long, and Sue was too shaken after her fall to be aware of embarrassment. She knew that she was led to a fallen tree-trunk, and that the Graf sat beside her while they waited for the car. She was glad to take advantage of the nearness of his shoulder and drop her head down on to it when he made the suggestion, and because of the threatened nausea she kept her eyes closed most of the time.

But whenever she opened them for a moment she could see his dark, grave ones gazing at her with a whole world of concern looking out of them, and whenever he spoke to her his voice was gentle, and vibrated with the same concern. There was no reproof because she had run counter to his wishes and continued the early morning rides.

When the car arrived he sat in the back with her, and the same shoulder provided her with a pillow until they reached the schloss. She was beginning to feel rather more like herself by this time, and she was less hazy about what was going on around her; and the close confinement of the car, the faint, personal scent of the man who held her in the crook of his strong right arm, impressed her far more than the leafy stillness of the wood out of which they were climbing .. .

In the wood they had been alone . . . But not as they were alone in the car, shut in, segregated, apart. The motion of the car was so smooth, too, and she found it somehow infinitely soothing: She realized that this was the first time she had been alone with him in the back

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of a car, and as she lay with her ear pressed against the tweed of his hacking-jacket, and for the second time since they had known one another she listened deliberately to the steady beating of his heart, she knew that this was all she wanted from life . . . To be always close to him, never, never far apart! .. .

The thought, intruding as it did as if it had slipped in past her mental guard, startled her, and she made a little movement as if she would draw herself away from him But he spoke at once.

"Lie still, liebling! We will soon be at the schloss." Liebling? She wondered whether he and his cousin

made a habit of using the affectionate term to their feminine acquaintances from time to time, and decided that whatever Fritz might do Axel was hardly likely to emulate. And this thought provided her with so much to dwell upon that she made another, somewhat im-pulsive movement, as if she would draw away from him, and this time his tone was a little more abrupt when he urged her to lie still.

"I'm sorry Anton didn't think to bring cushions with him," he said. "If he had done so I could have made you much more comfortable, and you wouldn't have had to put up with the hardness of my shoulder. How-ever, it is a matter of minutes now before you can be really comfortable."

She tried to protest: "I am absolutely comfortable!" But she had the

feeling that he had withdrawn from her in some cur-ious, mental fashion, and that her double effort to sit up and relieve him of the pressure of her head on his shoulder had been a mistake. A mistake which puzzled and bewildered her until she recalled the extraordinary

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conversation she had had with him only the day before, when he had disclosed something Velda had said to .

him . . . Something about Sue being hyper-sensitive about physical disablement!

Surely he didn't think? Oh, surely he didn't really think she was inclined to shrink from him be- cause of his loss of an arm! And that scar on his cheek!

But before she could attempt to find out whether this was really the case the car stopped before the great entrance door of the schloss, and Anton leapt out from his seat behind the , wheel to assist her to alight. Axel permitted him to guide her slightly unsteady steps across the few feet of courtyard and up the short flight of steps to the open door, and once inside the hall the Grafin was waiting with mild concern on her face to see her established on a settee in the salon.

Velda, also, was waiting in the hall, and having sat-isfied herself that her sister was still more or less in one piece, and that her pallor, although marked, was not as marked as it would have been if she had been seriously injured, murmured to her in an undertone that it was too bad that she should have caused all this consternation.

For the housekeeper had been sent for, and had received instructions to put hot-water bottles into Miss Warren's bed, and a maid appeared with a brandy glass in her hand, and Axel took it from her and offered it to Sue. She had the feeling that he would have allowed the maid to do this but for the fact that he was a gentle-man, with the instincts of a gentleman, and Sue looked so slight and anxious lying at full length on the settee. She sent him a glance that was full of unconscious appeal, and he sat down on the foot of the couch and

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smiled at her, and assured her that the doctor would be with her in a very short while. In the meantime she was to drink up the brandy.

"But, I'm much better now .. . I really am!" Sue looked round vaguely for somewhere to place the bran-dy glass, having a natural aversion to its taste, and being consumed with an entirely new form of anxiety. If only they would all disappear and leave her alone with Axel! .. .

But the Grafin had no intention of leaving her alone with anyone until the doctor had assured her that her guest was fit to be moved—or to move herself, if she so wished!—and being an instinctively good hostess she fussed round her with extra cushions and an insis-tence on at least a sip of the brandy until Sue knew there was no hope of obtaining an answer to an absolutely vital question until the doctor had arrived and departed, and assured them there was nothing in the least wrong with her.

But the doctor, a careful little man with a kind and understanding smile, did nothing of the kind. He said that there were no bones broken and no serious harm done, but she was badly shaken and she would have to spend the rest of the day very quietly, preferably in her own room.

"I'll look in tomorrow," he added to the countess, "and make certain the damage is as light as I believe." Then he patted Sue's hand and smiled at her. "Auf wiedersehen, fraulein . . . And no riding for a few days!"

"There will be no more riding without my permission while you are here, Susannah," the Graf said to her

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almost curtly, and followed the doctor into the hall. Velda looked almost ludicrously concerned.

"But we are leaving for Vienna tomorrow," she re-minded her hostess. "And if the doctor is coming to see Sue . . ."

The countess smiled at her reassuringly. "Don't worry, my dear! If your sister is unable to

come with us she will be well looked after here! I can assure you of that! So go and get on with your packing and don't agitate yourself with thoughts of postponing our departure. We shall most certainly 'not do that!"

But when Axel returned he had other ideas about postponing their departure.

"If Susannah isn't fit to travel we can wait for a few days until she is. There is no urgency about the trip to Vienna." And then he saw Velda's face and attempted to console her. "Vienna will wait for you, my dear!" He treated her to one of his rare and understanding smiles, and even went close to her and looked down at her in slight concern. "What does it matter if we go tomorrow, or the day after . . . ? Or the day after that! All the things I have promised to show you I will show you when we get there, and delay is not really a disaster, you know! It is not even as if you are tied for time!"

From the way he said it he might have been—and possibly was!—expecting her to remain at the schloss for ever, and Sue turned away her face when she saw how eagerly and undisguisedly Velda met his eyes, although she still pouted a little at the idea of having to wait for some fresh excitement.

"It's only that I'm so looking forward to seeing Vienna," she explained, with a kind of little-girl wist-fulness that was just a trifle overdone when she was not 1278 161

the 'little girl' type; and the Grafin reaffirmed that she would not have to wait.

"It's nonsense to condemn us all to altering our arrangements just because Susannah has had a little fall from a horse," she declared. "I'm very sorry for Susannah, but I understand that she did go against your expressed wishes by continuing with her riding lessons while she was staying here," with a meaning look at her son. "I can't imagine why you should object to her learning to ride, but the fact that you did should have been enough," with a rather more arch look at Sue. "And, now, my dear, you have reaped the whirlwind! I have quite a number of appointments which I must keep as soon as we arrive in Vienna, and I simply can't consider leaving here a day later than we planned!"

"Of course you mustn't alter your arrangements . . ." Sue began hurriedly, but Axel saw how the need to be emphatic made her wince, and he spoke firmly, de-cisively.

"Very well, Mother, you and Velda can leave here tomorrow, and I will remain behind until Sue is fit to travel. She can't possibly be left behind to travel by herself!"

But this aroused such a storm of protest that he had to think up some other alternative plan.

"Then we will take Sue with us and travel very slowly. Dr. Muller can have another look at her tonight

"My dear," his mother reproved him, gently, "that

would be subjecting Sue to a very unwise risk." She went across to Sue and sat beside her on the couch. "I'm sure you would be much happier here until you are

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quite fit," she said, with a charming air of thinking only of her well being. "Do try and convince Axel that that is what you yourself wish."

"And remember that it's entirely your own fault that you aren't coming with us!" Velda exclaimed, from the head of the couch. There was a certain smugness in her voice as she added: "If you will abuse hospitality I'm afraid you must expect, as the countess put it just now, to reap the whirlwind!"

"Don't worry," Sue said huskily, as soon as they would allow her to speak, "I never had any intention of going to Vienna with you! For one thing, I don't want to, and for another—" looking past Axel at the brightness of the sunshine on the terrace outside the windows—"I promised Fritz that, as he's staying here, I'd stay here, too! Or, at any rate, I'd return to the chalet rather than go all the way to Vienna!"

After that she closed her eyes, as if the very bright-ness she was gazing at hurt her and made her long for the quiet of her own room; and Axel—taking in the lie without any change of expression—turned and walked quietly out of the room.

The countess patted Sue on the shoulder with a complacent approval that caused a return of her nau-sea.

"Well done, my dear!" she approved. "Whether or not you made such a promise to Fritz I wouldn't like to wager, but it was clever of you to think that one up! Axel must realize that if Fritz isn't going to be in Vienna it won't have half the charm for you!"

Which was a deliberate misreading of a look of deathly weariness and sudden unconcealable unhap-

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piness in a young woman's clear hazel-brown eyes.

Later that day Velda paid her a visit in her room, and after making a lighthearted enquiry as to how she felt she wandered round the room picking up various articles and setting them down again, and then returned to the bed on the outside of which Sue was lying.

"I'm sorry you can't come with us, sweetie," she said. "But, on the whole, I think it's a good thing that you aren't coming." Sue lay gazing up at her in the tranquil dimness of the room, and Velda avoided her eyes. "I don't want to hurt you, darling, but I know that you still have a kind of a—well, thing, about Axel! Fritz is far more suited to you, but because Axel has only one arm, and that lends him a kind of aura of romance . . ."

Sue spoke hastily from the bed. "Did you tell him I'm ridiculously sensitive where

incapacitated people are concerned? That I shrink from their disabilities, although you know that I had a year training with spastic children, and that I would have gone on working with them only a friend of yours started the bookshop and you wanted me to help him out . . ."

Velda made a gesture that was faintly apologetic. "Darling, I'm afraid I did. Only at one time I was

afraid he was slightly interested in you—a little too inclined to be protective about you, and that sort of thing—and in my own interests it had to be nipped in the bud. Afterwards I realized that I need not have worried .. . And now I know that I need not have worried! But at the time it seemed a safe precaution."

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"To make him think I was a stupid, weak, contemp-tible female?"

Velda shrugged. "Some women find it difficult to conceal their aver-

sion for what you call a disability . . . and Axel is rather badly scarred! He's very conscious of it himself, and therefore he didn't think it in the least odd that you should . . . well, shrink from him because of it!"

Sue bit her lower lip so hard that it bled a little. Velda sat down on the side of the bed, and examined

the scarlet tips of her nails. "Well, darling, to get down to what I was coming

to! . ." She directed a flickering glance at her sister, and then looked away. "I was saying that I'm rather glad you're not coming with us, because-frankly—I don't think you would enjoy it! Axel hasn't asked me to marry him yet, but perhaps when I tell you that the girl he was once engaged to marry had red hair, and was almost exactly like me—it was as a result of some quarrel with her that he plunged down a sheer cliff face, or something of the sort, when they were out riding!—you'll begin to appreciate that my meeting with him wasn't just an accident. He was madly in love with her, and she gave him up for some-one else, and he's done nothing but think about her for years! And now .. . Well, he doesn't have to waste time brooding over the past! I've come along, and I'm real and human . . . And I think your chances flew out of the window, sweetie, as soon as he set eyes on me!"

Sue flinched from the sheer vulgarity of this state-ment, but she said nothing.

Velda looked down at her hands again.

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"Of course Pm—in love with him, too!" Sue doubted this so strongly that she wanted to cry her doubt aloud, but there seemed no purpose in doing anything of the kind.

"Who wouldn't be?" Velda asked. "When he's so shatteringly attractive!"

"Apart from the scar," Sue said dryly—with almost a painful' dryness.

Velda flicked her cheek lightly with her forefinger. "Darling, this is what I want to tell you . . . The

reason why I think you wouldn't be happy in Vienna just now! Axel hasn't actually asked me to marry him, but last night he showed me his grandmother's jew-ellery, and indicated a ring—a magnificent emerald and diamond ring!—which he insisted that I tried on, and when it was a little too large he said he would have it made smaller by his jeweller in Vienna. It's such a gorgeous ring it couldn't be anything other than a betrothal ring, and the fact that he's going to have it altered for me . . . Well, what do you yourself think, sweet?"

Sue turned her face to the wall and tried to make her mind a blank. It was too painful to think any-thing at all just them.

Velda smiled complacently at the finger that would one day wear the ring.

"And there's just one other thing, darling . . . He's asked me whether I'd like to live in Vienna, and he wants me to go on a short cruise with his mother before the summer's over. He has some business to transact which will take him out of Austria in a few weeks' time, but when he returns . . . Well, the countess is banking on it that there's going to be a wedding!"

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Sue shut her eyes and pretended that her head was aching too badly to allow her to be really attentive. Velda displayed a touch of concern, and bent over her.

"Darling, if you haven't any frozen cologne," she said, "I'll get you some. I've a wonderful supply of everything in my room!"

But Sue shook her head without opening her eyes. "Just leave me alone for a bit," she pleaded.

Her second visitor was Fritz, who came in following a soft tapping on one of the panels of the door, and then approached the bed with elaborate carefulness in case he should disturb her if she was asleep. When he discovered that she was lying with wide, misery-filled eyes and staring at the ceiling he pleaded humbly for forgiveness.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, that I let you in for that little toss this morning. Has it shaken you up very badly?"

"No." She blinked her eyes rapidly in case he should detect the moisture that kept filling them. "The doctor says I'm quite all right. I'm going to get up presently."

"Then why do you look as if the world has come to an end?" He sat on the side of the bed and studied her earnestly. "Is it because you're not going with the others to Vienna tomorrow?"

"I don't want to go to Vienna." He smiled rather oddly. "Thanks for deceiving my aunt about the state of

affection that exists between us. I understand you prefer to remain here because you can't tear yourself away from me . . .?" He bent over her, and his smile was definitely wry. "If I believed that I'd ask you to

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marry me straight away, even although I couldn't possibly afford to support a wife at the present mo-ment! I've grown peculiarly devoted to you, little one, and if only you could attach yourself to me we might make a go of it. What do you think?"

"Don't be silly," she returned, managing to smile at him gratefully nevertheless. "You wouldn't want a wife who couldn't stay on the back of a horse."

"I wouldn't want a wife who was foolish enough to prefer my one-armed cousin." He rose from the bed and started pacing up and down the room, frowning a little as he did so. "Axel has the money, and apparently he has the luck, too . . . Or quite a lot of it! But he doesn't see very straight. He thinks that one redhead makes a heaven . . . Or does he?"

He looked hard and curiously at Sue, as she lay inertly on the bed.

"Has the enchanting Velda been looking in on you and having a little chat?" he asked.

Sue looked away from the searchlight quality of his eyes.

"She has been to see me," she admitted. "Ah, jar he exclaimed. "I thought as much! And

she isn't the ideal sick-room visitor. And Axel?" "No." She kept her eyes deliberately averted. "He will," Fritz assured her, "so don't worry. He'll

come because it's his duty, and he's leaving for Vienna in the morning." He squeezed her hand before he let himself out at the door. "Try and get some sleep, little one, and maybe you'll feel brighter when you wake up. Maybe your troubles will have melted away, and everything will seem surprisingly rosy!"

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But when Sue opened her eyes after a nap of about half-an hour it was to find Axel standing beside her bed, and her reaction was instant confusion. She tried to struggle up on to one elbow, but he stopped her.

"Lie still," he said, lightly pressing her shoulder with his slim brown hand and keeping her flat on her back. "I want to talk to you, Susannah, if you feel up to it?"

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE result of this statement was to deprive Sue of the power of speech. She had been dreaming that she was still travelling with him in a car, and she had wanted the journey to go on forever . . . Just as, in reality, she had wanted it to go on forever only a few hours before.

But, now, meeting his half-grave eyes—and sur-prisingly, they were not nearly as grave as they had been a few hours before—she marvelled that even in sleep she should be so deluded as to imagine he, too, would have welcomed a journey of such a lengthy duration so long as she shared it with him. And in her dream she had had no need to be convinced that it was a mutual contentment that filled the car, and made the endless, effortless movement sheer, unadulterated joy.

She felt a quick flush steal into her cheeks as she remembered her dream, and, placing a chair beside the bed and seating himself on it very deliberately—as if even if she said she didn't feel up to conversation he intended to remain where he was—Axel nodedd approvingly.

"You are looking better," he told her, "much better. There is more colour in your cheeks, and your eyes are not so harassed. When I came in just now and watched you sleeping—and I'm afraid I actually dis-turbed you!—there was even a little smile on your lips."

Sue's colour increased. 170

"You didn't disturb me," she assured him, formally. "And I'm feeling very much better, thank you."

"Good." He crossed his legs, and she could see the immacu-

late crease in his trousers. The last of the gravity had faded from his eyes, and she had the feeling that he was very, very slightly amused by her.

She could not just lie there and let him calmly study her, so she sat up awkardly and slid her legs off the bed.

"As a matter of fact, I was thinking of getting up when I fell asleep," she admitted. "It seems absurd to lie here pretending I'm an invalid when I'm not."

"In the morning, I'm afraid, you will feel much more like an invaild when you discover how many bruises you've got," he warned her. "It is always the same after a fall from a horse . . . I know, because I've taken many a toss in the days when I, too, rode reg-ularly before breakfast."

But there was no self-pity in his face, as if he re-gretted those morning rides. And for the first time she knew instinctively that he was willing to discuss that other serious fall with her if she elected to ask him questions.

But she had been badly bitten once for asking him questions, and she certainly wasn't going to do so now.

"I'd like to apologize for abusing your hospitality, if you'll accept the apology," she got out rather awkwardly. "Your mother and Velda are right . . . It would have been my own fault if I'd broken my neck this morning! And that your mother should be asked to postpone her trip to Vienna because of me was

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something I wouldn't have had happen for the world, if I could have avoided it!"

"And why not?" he enquired, with the oddest little lift of his eyebrows. "Why shouldn't my mother be asked to postpone her trip if I particularly desire her to do so?"

Sue felt suddenly a little helpless. She shrugged her shoulders slightly.

"Naturally, if you had a very good reason . . . And—and, in any case, there was Velda . . ."

"Ah, yes, Velda," he said softly, very softly. "Velda is anxious to see Vienna, and one doesn't like to disap-point anyone so beautiful as she is. For that reason, and that reason alone, I have agreed to go with them tomorrow . . . But I shall expect you to join us as soon as Dr. Muller has pronounced you fit for travel. Anton can drive you in one of the others cars . . . I wouldn't trust 'Fritz, for reasons that we needn't go into at the moment," smiling, however, as if his relation-ship with Fritz were quite friendly under the surface, whatever she might have supposed earlier. "I know you would prefer to remain here with Fritz, who has the glamour of youth, but it is in your own interests to see something of our capital before you go home to Eng-land."

Sue felt as if a sword that had been poised above her head had fallen very decisively at last. She swal-lowed—feeling for one moment almost stunned—and decided to say there and then what had to be said sooner or later, if a despicable image of herself was to be wiped from his memory for good and all.

"Herr Graf . . ." she began. 172

"Axel," he corrected her conversationally. "I think that, considering quite a number of things, you really ought to make it Axel all the time, and not slip back into the Herr Graf stage of our relationship."

Misery practically swamped her, for of course he was referring to the quality of the relationship that now existed between him and Velda . . . And when a man selects an extremely valuable ring from amongst his family heirlooms to bestow on a girl he certainly isn't thinking of putting her out of his life, or altering the quality of their relationship in anything but a fa-vourable manner! Favourable to her, that is!

Sue swallowed once more. Then suddenly she stiffened a little, as if the very casualness of his tone had in some way goaded her, stung her into a realiza-tion of how little she really meant in his life.

"I don't think it matters whether I call you Axel or Herr Graff . . . we won't see very much of one another in the future," she said with a quiet dignity. "But there's one thing I want to put you right about . . . I can't let you go on thinking that I'm stupid and con-temptible and fall down in a faint at the sight of blood! That sort of thing . . ." She .didn't want actually to mention his empty sleeve, and the scar on his cheek, and he understood perfectly and nodded coolly.

"Your sister did say something about you having a dislike of people who are not quite—whole," he em-phasized distinctly.

"But it isn't true!" she suddenly flared, indignantly. "It's horribly untrue! I've never, never been upset by anything in the nature of deformity, and but for Velda I'd have been nursing at the present time . ." not wandering about on the Continent falling in love with

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the wrong man! she could have added, only for-tunately she stopped herself in time.

"Is that so?" the Graf said, in a mildly interested tone, watching her.

She nodded her head vehemently. "I always wanted to take up nursing . . .It was the

one thing I really wanted to do, only Velda—" "Stopped you?" There was a certain dryness in his voice which

caused her to remember his particular interest in Velda.

"I--I suppose she couldn't have stopped me if I'd been very strong-minded," she muttered, and felt sud-denly acutely ashamed for attempting a defence of her-self when it was quite uncalled for. For it quite clearly didn't matter to him whether she shrank from disabil-ity or not.

He just wasn't interested .. . "Is there anything else you wish me to know about

your somewhat frustrated past?" he enquired, with the utmost seriousness. Although when she glanced up and met his eyes she could have sworn they were not wholly serious. "Anything else you particularly wish me to know?"

She shook her head, colouring painfully. She felt as awkward as a schoolgirl.

"No--not really. It was just that I wanted to cor-rect a false impression. I didn't want you to think too—too badly of me."

"My dear child," he returned, "I'm not in the least likely to do that . . . ever!"

Then suddenly he stood up.

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"Well, I mustn't keep you talking when you ought to be resting. But in case I don't see you again before we leave will you give me your word to remain here quietly until I contact you from Vienna? I shall prob-ably telephone you . . . We leave early in the morning, but the journey would be tiresome unless broken for a night somewhere on the road. I have in mind a de-lightful little hotel which was once a private hunting-lodge which I think your sister will enjoy . . ."

"Oh, yes?" Sue said, rather faintly. He smiled at her, a smile with a hint of complacence. "Velda will be well looked after, I assure you. She

and my mother get along admirably together. They have the same interests . . . strictly feminine interests like clothes, shops, theatres, dinner-parties. I think I can promise you that Velda will enjoy herself thor-oughly!"

"I'm sure she will," Sue said, even more faintly. He glanced for a moment round the room, his eye-

brows lifting a little—contracting slightly before he ob-served:

"This is not the room I imagined you had been given. The one on the other side of your sister's is larger, and has a better outlook. It is a much nicer room altogether. Would you like me to give instruc-tions for you to be moved into it straight away?"

But she shook her head hurriedly, and said that she would prefer to remain where she was. She was fairly certain the Grafin had dismissed the idea of a still more luxurious room for such an insignificant guest when she first arrived at the schloss.

The trimmings were for Velda, who would soon be a member of the family!

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The Graf put out his hand, and she put hers into it. He held her fingers lightly.

"Anneliese and Fritz will see that you are well looked after in my absence," he told her. "And so long as you don't go riding with Fritz I shall have nothing to complain about!" His fingers tightened for a mo-ment. "And when you join us in Vienna . . ."

But she said with a sudden mutinous set of her mouth, and a slight jutting of her small chin:

"I have no intention of joining you in Vienna, Herr—Axel, so you might as well know that!"

He looked at her long and hard for a moment. "Very well," he replied, releasing her fingers. His

tone was almost emotionless. "Just as you please. I wouldn't force you to do anything you don't want to do, and of course you can remain here for as long as you wish. Perhaps the time is hardly ripe for you to visit Vienna just yet . . . It is a place for gaiety and romance and happiness! The three things," he added soberly, "that I had made up my mind to do without!"

Sue felt as if emotion and misery were literally rising up in her throat and choking her.

"I'm glad you know now that you haven't got to do without them after all," she said, huskily.

He smiled at her with a hint of the old sweetness and gentleness.

"Auf wiedersehen," he said. "One day, little one, you won't have to do without them, either!"

When he had left the room Sue lay down on her bed again for a short while, but she felt too restless and tormented to remain still for long, and when Velda came in to display the dress she was wearing for dinner

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the younger sister was engaged in going through her drawers and putting things into a case.

Velda appeared mildly surprised. "What are you doing, darling?" she asked. Sue faced her as if she was a wild creature at bay. "I'm going to the chalet as soon as you have left

here," she said quickly, jerkily. "And if you say a word to either the Graf or the Grafin I won't forgive you! I mean it, Velda," almost feverishly. "You have got what you want, and now you must please allow me to have what I want. And that is complete indepen-dence and freedom to lead my own life without the condescending intervention of these people whose lives are so dissimilar from my own. . . Not your own, be-cause you will soon be one of them! But mine, very de-finitely!"

Velda stood attending to the clasp of a bracelet for several seconds before she spoke, and then she asked curiously:

"And Fritz? Aren't you the least bit interested in Fritz? He'll be disappointed if you leave, you know."

Sue shook her head. "Fritz will understand. And, in any case, I'm

leaving!" Velda shrugged her shoulders. "Well, darling, you know best, of course. It may

make it a little bit awkward for me having you run away in our absence . . . But I suppose I'll have to put up with that! I can always say you're terribly proud, and English, and so forth. And, as a matter of fact, I heard only today that Freda's ankle is very much bet-ter, and she expects to be back at the chalet in a few days. So there will be someone to look after you."

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"And the key?" Sue asked. "Can I have the key, please?"

Velda opened her little brocaded handbag and took it out.

Sue thanked her, huskily. "Well, I'm glad our visit here is ending so satisfac-

torily for you! One day you'll be the lady of the schloss, and Uncle Jeremy's chalet will seem very small and humble by comparison with it. But, I hope you won't sell it—"

"If I do, darling, I'll give the money to you," Velda promised, smiling the smile of a Lady Bountiful. "For one thing, I don't imagine you'd want to settle yourself down at our castle gates, and the money would buy you a lot of things that you need. A little bookshop of your own, for instance . . .

,

Sue shook her head. "If you sell the chalet you can keep the money. I

wouldn't want it." Velda declared that such independence was typical

of her, and it was also very stupid. "But you know very well that if ever you want to

visit us in Austria there'll be room for you here," she added magnanimously, and Sue knew a moment of uneasiness on her account lest she was counting her chickens before they were hatched, and she wasn't after all destined to be mistress of the schloss.

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

IT was very early in the morning when the car slipped beneath the arch and Velda began her journey to Vienna.

Lying in bed Sue listened to the soft purring of the engine, and when it had died away she made no move-ment to get out of bed, but just lay there feeling as if she had been deprived of the initiative to do anything at all.

At eleven o'clock the doctor called on her and pro-nounced her reasonably fit, but advised her to go care-fully for a few days, and certainly not to ride. She was looking a little pale, and the bruises Axel had predicted were extremely painful. She felt disinclined to take very much exercise, but by twelve o'clock she had per-suaded Fritz to drive her to the chalet, complete with her small amount of luggage, and although he pro-tested vigorously it was Anneliese who finally silenced him.

Anneliese had also suffered as a result of bestowing her affections where they were not wanted, and she had a fairly shrewd idea that Sue had done the same. But another redhead had conquered, and she and Sue had to lick their wounds with dignity, and try and pre-tend there was nothing at all amiss with their worlds.

She helped Sue with her packing, but she allowed Fritz to drive her to the chalet without offering to ac-company them. Fritz opened the front door of the cha-let with Velda's key, and then opened all the windows to clear the rooms of stuffiness. No one had entered

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them since the two girls left the chalet, and the atmos-phere was hardly welcoming after the cool, well ven-tilated rooms at the schloss.

Fritz was most unwilling to go away and leave Sue alone amongst Uncle Jeremy's books and old-fash-ioned furniture; but she knew that once he had left she could give the rooms a vigorous dusting and polishing, and brighten them with some flowers from the garden At least, that was what she thought when she started on a round of housework; but in the act of cutting the flowers she wondered why on earth she was doing any-thing of the kind, and what possible comfort a few bowls and vases of bright blooms could give her when she was to be alone for days in the silent little wooden-walled house.

Not even a placid Freda arriving with the milk and a basket of groceries up the garden path, or Freda's youngest son, Theodore, doing hand turns in the gar-den while his mother cooked the lunch!

If she wanted any lunch she would have to cook it herself; and that reminded her that the larder was empty save for a few jars of preserve and some dry stores. Neither Fritz nor Anneliese, nor herself had thought of food when she set off from the schloss, although Anneliese had suggested that it might be a good thing if she waited until after lunch before re-turning to the chalet.

Now, although she wasn't in the least hungry, she wondered vaguely what she was going to do for break-fast in the morning, and how long it would take her to walk to the village and back for some essential shop-ping. The thought of the long uphill climb from the village put her off contemplating doing any shopping

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that day, and she went through to the larder to examine the position, and discover how serious or otherwise it was.

At least there was a packet of tea, and the biscuit-tin contained some cream-cracker biscuits. She sat down on a chair in the bare little scrubbed kitchen and felt a bubble of slightly hysterical laughter rise up in her throat as she thought of Velda lunching off iced melon and cold breast of chicken, with possibly straw-berries and ice cream to follow, and—almost cer-tainly!—sparkling champagne as an accompaniment; and herself drinking tea without any milk, and nib-bling a few rather dried-up biscuits!

It wasn't that she envied Velda her expensive lunch, but the thought of her with Axel in constant atten-dance at her elbow was just a little too much as she sat in that empty kitchen, and the bubble of laughter in her throat turned to a painful lump that felt as if it would choke her, and the tears that for the past twenty-four hours had kept pressing behind her eyes started to flow over and roll down her cheeks.

Her whole body felt stiff and sore, as if it was one exceptionally ugly bruise, she craved the comfort of her luxurious bed—or even the elegant First Empire couch that couldn't compete with Velda's modern chaise-longue!--at the schloss; and the very thought of her bleak and empty future stretching ahead of her was like the prospect of doom. There could be no bright-ness, no light, no colour or shade, without the know-ledge that one man, out of all the men in the world, was there to smile at her occasionally, to make her feel less insignificant, less ordinary, less the antithesis of Velda!

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And it didn't matter that he had only one arm! It wouldn't matter if the other arm never knew the urge to reach out and encompass her so long as he was there!

The tears streamed down her cheeks, she was pos-sessed by an awful horror of the future, a bitter envy of Velda, and she never heard the car stop outside the garden gate, the gate itself click open, and footsteps walk briskly up the path. She was still sitting on her chair in the middle of the kitchen, holding the half empty biscuit-tin, when Axel walked right through the chalet and stood in the doorway to the kitchen.

For a long moment she did not look up, and when she did so she gasped. The biscuit-tin dropped from her fingers, and she gave a little cry.

"Axel!" He extended his one sound arm to her. His dark eyes

were distressed, but his mouth was stern. "Come here, you little idiot, you stupid little—un-

believably simple little sweetheart!" he concluded, huskily, and Sue raced across the floor to him and was held fiercely and possessively close by that one sound arm.

He lowered his cheek to her hair, and while her fingers clutched at him as if she feared he would dis-solve into thin air, he apostrophized her afresh in a low, shaken, utterly unfamiliar voice, especially as, for the first time since she had known him, his English developed an accent, and much of the storm of rebuke was -in his native Austrian.

"How could you place such a little value on your-self I can't think! Why you should be so easily de-ceived is beyond me! Your sister has nothing-

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nothing!—apart from her looks, and you expected me to be content with those! She's the most obvious hus-band-hunter I've ever met, I've never been so con-scious of my possessions in the whole of my life as I've been during the last few weeks, and you thought I was taken in! Oh, Sue . . . Susannah! You little blind bat!"

Sue's eyes were like stars shining through the re-mains of her tears as she looked up at him.

"But you went away and left me . . . I thought you had gone all the way to Vienna!" she choked.

"Instead of which I travelled only a few miles with my mother and your sister, and then returned. I hired a car and got back to the schloss a quarter of an hour ago. And now I'm here!" he added. "Here with you!"

Sue drew a breath of unutterable happiness and in-credulity.

"I can't believe it," she whispered. He lowered his dark cheek still more, and she knew

that his mouth was going to close over hers. After a shattering experience that left her weak and clinging to him she heard him ask:

"Do you believe it now, liebechen?" Later they found themselves in the sitting-room, but

Sue had no clear idea who it was who suggested aban-doning the kitchen. She only knew that the chintz-covered settee on which he had once sat side by side with Velda, and listened to her artless chatter about cake-making and the charm of housework generally, was a very haven after the agonies of the past few hours; and it was glorious to have made the discovery that in a matter of minutes she had lost all her shyness of him, and to be able to nestle her head down into the hollow of his shoulder, and make up for his lack of

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an arm by winding one of her own slim arms about his neck.

"First of all, you must understand that I had no in-tention of leaving you behind and going to Vienna," he told her, as soon as coherent speech was possible. "I pretended to you that I was because I hoped against hope that you would forget your pride and be honest with me . . . Surely you must have known from that night when we were together on my balcony that I loved you? I loved you from the moment I saw you in the wood; but that night it seemed so natural that you should come close to me and cling to me—as you did!"

Sue blushed vividly. "Did I? Yes; I know I did! And then you bit me!" "I bit you because I am absurdly sensitive, as you

know now, about this empty sleeve I've been afflicted with for years. And at that stage of our acquaintance-ship I couldn't be absolutely certain that you were in-terested in me, and not my background. You are young—many years younger than me!—and it didn't seem to be possible that a one armed man could gen-uinely appeal to you. Your sympathy revolted me be-cause I didn't want sympathy from you . . . I wanted so much more!"

"And you had it . . . right from the beginning!" she assured him, lifting a glowing face to his.

He kissed it tenderly, lingeringly. "Oh sweetheart, I realize now that I made a mistake

that night! You're as sensitive as I am, and you promp-tly put yourself right out of my reach. You refused to have anything whatsoever to do with me, and in point of fact you spurned me . . . And it was then that Velda

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was really clever, and provided me with a few fresh miseries. She explained away your attitude of aloof-ness by attributing to you a kind of hyper-sensitivity where people bearing the brunt of some sort of an afflic-tion were concerned, and every time we were together after that I seemed to feel you shrinking from me. You shrank from me in the car after your accident—or so I thought!—and it was almost more than I could en-dure."

"Oh, but I never, never shrank from you," she as-serted, almost fiercely. "If I appeared to shrink from you in the car it was because . . . Well, I was certain you were in love with Velda, and I wanted to stay close to you for ever!—I wished the car would travel on and on and on and never stop!—and that was a fool's paradise I had to put behind me!"

"The fool's paradise has caught up with you, never-theless," he murmured beside her ear. And then his dark eyes glinted a little. "However, I'm not in the least sorry your sister is proceeding towards Vienna without me. She and my mother get along very well, it's true, but my mother and I have never been exactly close, and any woman with hair as red as Velda's and eyes as green as hers, is the next best thing to a danger signal to me, and always will be. I was once engaged to be married to a woman with red hair—and, by some extraordinary coincidence, she also had green eyes!— and we quarrelled while we were out riding one morn-ing, and as a result of that quarrel I lost an arm! After-wards, when she learned about the arm, and she also saw how badly scarred I was—much worse at that time, for, as you said, scars do fade—she panicked and

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said she couldn't possibly marry me, and she went off to America and married an American millionaire!"

"Oh, Axel! . . . Oh, darling!" Sue exclaimed, so full off intense pity for him that she couldn't possibly ex-press it.

He drew a little away from her, and cupped her face in his hand.

"So now perhaps you'll believe me when I tell you that Velda never stood a chance? I can put it like that because she was so blatantly after my money—and I think she rather fancied the notion of becoming a countess!—and she was unscrupulous enough to lie about you. That was the criminal thing, and I shall never forgive her for it!"

Sue's eyes became shadowed for a moment, and she felt forced to remind him:

"But you did pay her an—an awful lot of attention! I'm sure your mother believed you were attracted, and Velda was certain you were. She—"

"Well?" he asked, quietly. She coloured, delicately. "Last night she told me about the ring—the dia-

mond and emerald ring you were going to have altered to fit her finger. It isn't usual for a man—not even a man in your position!—to give a diamond and emerald ring to a girl unless he is thinking of marrying her."

Axel's lips grew a little thin. "Or as compensation for not marrying her?" he sug-

gested, dryly. "My little sweet, Velda practically picked that ring out of the jewel-case, and since it matched her eyes I decided she should have it. It is true that I made use of her in an unnecessary attempt to make you jea-lous, and my conscience pricked me. I knew she was

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going to be bitterly disappointed very soon, and the ring might console her."

"Then, you—you did hope that perhaps I—I might overcome my aversion sufficiently to—?" Sue's cheeks were glowing again.

"To love me a little?" He smiled at her with great tenderness. "My little sweetheart, until the moment that Fritz who has had me consumed with jealousy far worse than anything you have suffered!—came to me yesterday afternoon and told me that it was quite un-true he had asked you to stay on at the schloss while we went to Vienna, and that you were not in the very smallest degree interested in him, I was prepared, like the beggar, to accept the crumbs that might fall from the rich man's table! And then when you made that touching little confession of yours about the days when you wanted to be a nurse, I knew that at last I could expect more than crumbs!"

"And you thrust me down into the depths of utter despair by pretending that it meant nothing to you," Sue protested.

His eyes gleamed a little with unreasonable satis-faction.

"Was it utter despair?" he asked. Then he took one of her hands and carried it up to his cheek and held it there. "Yesterday you were so determined to believe that I loved Velda that I wanted to punish you—just a little! To me it was incredible that you should im-agine I would go off to Vienna and leave you, just for the sheer pleasure of showing Velda Vienna! Even if you loved me, you had a pretty low opinion of me .. . Or so it seemed!

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"So this morning I travelled a short distance with Velda and my mother, and then, as I said, I returned. I had already arranged with the doctor to see you again about eleven, and I could hardly believe it when I was told that by twelve o'clock you had left the schloss and come back here." His eyes rebuked her. was that quite fair, liebling?"

She made no actual answer, but the tear stains on her cheeks answered for her. Abruptly he gathered her close again in the tight, protective grip of one arm.

"Oh, darling," he said, huskily, "I understand. And it is I who am to blame for leaving you as I did .. . My poor little girl who went riding once too often! But never again will I allow you to ride with Fritz! Never again will I allow you to ride with anyone! .. . Will that hurt you?"

She shook her head where it rested against his shoulder.

"Nothing will ever hurt me so long as I am with you," she told him, huskily. "And, in any case," she added, truthfully, "I don't think I'd ever make a very good rider."

"You will not have the opportunity to find out," he said decisively. He looked down long and ardently into her face. "I love you, Susannah," he told her, softly. "I love you and I mean to marry you very soon. I think I should have married you—or declared my in-tention of marrying you!—the day after I met you in the wood, and then none of this unhappiness would have followed. But now I want to hear you say that you love me, and that supposing I'd asked you to marry me the day after we met in the woods you would have said `Yes'—unhesitatingly!"

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And although she knew that it was fantastic, con-sidering they knew nothing at all of one another at that stage, she was able to answer with absolute truth:

"Yes . . . Yes, I think I would! In fact, I know I would! Because as soon as I opened my eyes after I received that crack on the head I knew that the world had changed . . . and nothing would ever be quite the same again! I think even Velda knew I was different when I got back here to the chalet."

"And you kept my roses alive for nearly a fort-night!" he reminded her.

"Yes." She smiled into his eyes. "I tried hard to keep them alive for longer than that." She put up a hand and gently touched the scar on his cheek, and then she drew that same scarred cheek down to her soft red mouth and pressed against it. With a little catch in her voice she whispered: "I love you, Axel! I love you so much it frightens me sometimes . . . By comparison with that girl you might have married I've probably got very little to offer you. Your mother , thinks I've nothing at all. I know that."

"My dearest," he said, as he crushed her up against him. "I am the judge of what you have to give me .. . And the very thought of it goes to my head like too much champagne! I don't merely love you, I adore, you—everything about you, even that pink cotton frock you wore when I first saw you! Oh, my darling, you were so enchanting, with your apologetic eyes and your stolen flowers scattered all round your feet! And I knew then that although I'd imagined myself in love before it was nothing—nothing to what I could feel for you!"

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And to prove it he produced one of her withered wild flowers from his notecase, and laid it against her cheek.

"You see, I kept it," he said, softly. "I shall keep it always," and returned it to his notecase.

After that they both decided that talking was un-necessary, and the minutes passed while she lay against his heart and he kissed her in a way that made every moment of unhappiness she had endured for his sake a moment of preparation for almost unendurable hap-piness. And then he became practical and told her that they would be married at the earliest possible moment that it could be arranged, and as soon as they were married they would fly off to Paris for a brief but won-derful honeymoon, after which they would return to his house in Vienna.

"And in case you are entertaining fears that you will have to live with my mother that will not be so," he said. "I intend to set her up in an apartment of her own, which she has long wanted, in Vienna, and per-haps Velda would like to join her there. They are birds of a feather, and I think they will get along excel-lently."

Sue couldn't resist asking: "Was Velda very upset when you said you were

coming back here, and she knew that she had to go on to Vienna without you?"

He smiled. "If she was, she managed to hide it . . . There was

nothing else she could do. But I telephoned a cousin—yes, another cousin!—in Vienna, who also has a title and is reasonably well off, although a little plump for his forty-five years of bachelordom, and I asked him

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to do the honours in my stead! I'm hoping Velda will overlook his plumpness and take a fancy to him. It's high time he married and provided himself with an heir."

Provided himself with an heir! . . . Sue hid her face against him, not really able to believe she was going to marry this man, and that one day, she, too, might pro-vide him with an heir! . . . The heir so ardently hoped for by the Grafin!

In order to see her face and to study it again ar-dently Axel had to release her, and once again he cup-ped the softly curved cheeks with his hand.

"Marriage to me will not be quite fair on you," he said, huskily. "I have only one arm instead of two, and therefore yours will have to do double duty. Will you try and forgive me if I'm clumsy sometimes, and are you willing to undertake that double duty?"

For answer Sue slid one arm tightly about his neck, and with her free hand clutched passionately at his empty sleeve.

"I will be all, and everything, that you want me to be," she assured him, a passionate break in her voice.

THE END