"I've seen her only two or three times," Julian said, "but I've seen she hasn't eyes for anybody except you."
"_That's_ far from being so," Napier retorted. "But if it were, I should know the reason."
"But _you_ don't," Napier still insisted. "The reason is I'm the only person in the house who isn't Miss von Schwarzenberg's slave."
"Oh! I took her at first for just a governess."
"She's a lot besides that!" Napier wagged his head in a curiosity-provoking way.
"There's been so much to talk about since I got back," Julian went on, "or else I've been meaning to ask about her."
"She interests you?" Napier asked a little sharply.
"I confess," said Julian, "I haven't understood her position at the McIntyres."
"If _I_ haven't--it isn't from lack of data. Only,"--Napier wrinkled his fine brows--"did you ever know a person that nothing you know about them seems to fit? That isn't grammar, but it's my feeling about that young woman."
The two played a very evenly matched game. As they walked side by side after their balls, Julian wondered from time to time whether the subject of Miss von Schwarzenberg had been introduced to prevent his reverting to that vision of his--all the clearer since his tour round the world--of a reconstituted society in which vested privilege should no longer have a leg to stand on. Or could it be that Gavan was seriously intrigued by the Rhine maiden who, more or less as a special favor, had consented to superintend the studies and to share the recreations of "that handful," Madge McIntyre, aged sixteen? This girl, with the boyish face and boyish tastes and boyish clothes (whose mane of flaming hair had helped to fasten on her the nickname of Wildfire McIntyre), Julian already knew slightly as the only and much-spoiled daughter of Napier's chief. Sir William McIntyre, K. C. B., adviser to the Admiralty and laird of Kirklamont, had been the notable chairman of endless shipping companies and prime promoter of numberless commercial enterprises, until he accepted a seat in the cabinet, a man of vigor and some originality of mind, in contrast to his wife--a brainless butterfly of a woman who complained bitterly that she had less trouble with her four sons than with her one daughter. The one daughter, by ill luck, had an inconvenient share of her father's force of character. She had ruled the house of McIntyre till the advent of the lady in question.