It was most desirable that his cousin should not meet him, especially as she was of the sentimental age of seventeen.

So Mrs.Janet Vandaleur hastened their return from London to their small property in Scotland.
But there was no law to hinder Monsieur de Vandaleur from making a Scotch tour.
One summer's afternoon, when she had just finished the making of some preserves, Miss Vandaleur strolled down through a little wood behind the house towards a favourite beck that ran in a gorge below.

She was singing an old French song in praise of the beauty of a fair lady of the de Vandaleurs of olden time.

As she finished the first verse, a voice from a short distance took up the refrain-- "Victoire de Vandaleur! Victoire! Victoire!" It was her own name as well as that of her ancestress, and she blushed as her eyes met those of a strange young gentleman, with a sketch-book in his hand, and a French poodle at his heels.
"Place aux dames!" said the stranger.

On which the white poodle sat up, and his master bowed till his head nearly touched the ground.
They had met once as children, which was introduction enough in the circumstances.