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attempted to make clear the situation to her, of all people. And she also thought it a little strange that he should give such public emphasis to the fact that his sister’s marriage had not been a success.
    Mrs. Duveen broke into the conversation.
    “Oh, but Maria is so beautiful—so much like her mother, who was at the same finishing school as I was in Paris,” as if that made the beauty understandable. “I have always felt for her—for Maria, I mean—as if she was my own daughter, and it is unthinkable that she should not meet and marry a really attractive man before long. But this time she will have to be a little careful. I have been thinking of her so often lately, and I feel that she must be very careful.”
    She sounded as if it was of the utmost importance to her that Maria should be careful, and the marquis looked at her a little quizzically as he answered, in a very quiet voice and his effortless English: “One should expend a great deal of care on anything that is likely to affect one’s whole future life very closely.”
    A great deal of care, Josie thought, almost visualizing the words as she studied him discreetly between her lowered eyelashes while she sipped her coffee. He looked like a man who would never allow himself to be stampeded into anything, and that meant that his Latin temperament was not perhaps as Latin as it might have been. In fact, it was more like the cautious temperament of one of her own countrymen.
    They had their coffee served to them on the terrace at the rear of the hotel which overlooked the gardens, but although he had obviously enjoyed the lunch, and the society of the guest, Michael seemed noticeably to flag a little as he lay in his comfortable chair. Josie felt that quick twinge of anxiety on his behalf which she always experienced when she looked at him and observed the slight fading of his color, and the way in which his blue eyes sought to remain alert and interested although he was obviously keeping exhaustion at bay with difficulty. In spite of the presence of the other two she said quickly: “I think it is time that you should rest now, Doctor. You mustn’t attempt to overdo things.”
    “Quite right,” the marquis agreed, crushing the end of his cigarette in an ash tray at his elbow. He looked across the table at his hostess. “My thanks for an excellent lunch, senora, and we will await with impatience your arrival tomorrow.”
    “Oh, but I didn’t mean to break up the party!” Josie exclaimed, looking guilty as Mrs. Duveen looked slightly vexed, but Michael covered her hand with his own in a fashion he had never done before in public and patted it.
    “Of course you didn’t!” he exclaimed, with a lazy look of amusement in the blue eyes that gave away so much. “You only wanted to banish me.” And then he gave her hand a squeeze and released it, looking up at the marquis. “But she’s an excellent nurse, Carlos, and you mustn’t be misled by the youthful appearance. It’s the iron hand in the velvet glove, I assure you.”
    “I am quite sure that Miss Winter is an excellent nurse,” the Spaniard returned, and once again his eyes dwelt thoughtfully on Josie. She was also certain he had not neglected to observe the way in which Michael had squeezed her fingers. “Perhaps if you would care to walk with me to my car, senorita, you might give me a few hints as to the manner in which we must receive our invalid. Little things we must do to ensure his comfort.”
    It was not so much a request, as a naturally autocratic command, and although Mrs. Duveen elevated her eyebrows a trifle, and even Michael looked surprised, Josie was faced with no other alternative but to accompany the marquis. He bowed over Mrs. Duveen’s hand with all the courtly grace in the world, smiled at the doctor and patted him encouragingly on the shoulder, and then walked down the steps with the English girl who looked very slight and fair beside his elegant darkness.
    “I did