"Why does he call you that?" she asked.
"Oh, didn't you know my poor father was made a Baronet, after we entertained Royalty?"
"No; how strange your lives should have been going on all the time!" The pop of a cork at her elbow startled her. Then she lifted her frothing glass. "Sir—to you!"
He clinked his against it. "To the lady of my dreams."
"Still?" She sipped the wine: her eyes sparkled.
"Yes; I've still a long opinion of myself."
She put out her hand quickly and pressed his an instant.
"Thank you!" he said huskily. "That was why I said I was sorry to know that to the world you were still a governess. Of course I was glad, too."
"I don't understand. I always said you were more Irish than I."
"I was glad you had kept yourself unspotted from the stage-world."