, I
know," he went on, "but what is one to do who has the tastes and
education of a gentleman, and not even money enough to buy a farm and
work with one's hands for a living?"

The Princess moved to the window and back again.

"I, too, Nigel," she said, "have had shocks. Jeanne has come back. She
has been at Salthouse all the time."

"It was probably she, then, who sent for De la Borne," Forrest said
wearily.

"Perhaps so," the Princess assented, "but listen to this. It will
surprise you. She came back and she told De Brensault in this room only
a short while ago that her supposed fortune was a myth. De Brensault
took it like a lamb. He wants to marry her still."

Forrest looked up in amazement.

"And will he?" he asked.

"Oh, I do not know!" the Princess answered. "Nigel, I am sick of life
myself. There are times when everything you have been trying for seems
not worth while, when even one's fundamental ideas come tottering down.
Just now I feel as though every stone in the foundation of what has
seemed to me to mean life, is rotten and insecure. I am tired of it.
Shall I tell you what I feel like doing?"

"Yes!" he answered.

"I have a little house in Silesia, where I am still a great lady,
half-a-dozen servants, perhaps, farms which bring in a trifle of money.
I think I will go and live there. I think I will get up in the mornings
as Jeanne does, and try to love my mountains, and go about amongst my
people, and try to spell life with different letters. Come with me,
Nigel. There is shooting and fishing there, and horses wild enough for
even you to find pleasure in riding. We have tried many things in life.
Let us make one last throw, and try the land of Arcady."

He looked at her, at first in amazement. Afterwards some change seemed
to come into his face, called there, perhaps, by what he saw in hers.

"Ena," he said, "you mean it?"

"Absolutely," she answered. "Fortunately we are both free, and we can
set our peasants an absolutely respectable example. You shall be farmer
and I will be housewife. Nigel, it is an inspiration."

He bent over her fingers.

"I wonder," he murmured, "if there is good enough left in me to make it
worth your while."

Late that afternoon another caller thundered at the door of the house
in Berkeley Square. The Duke of Westerham desired to see Miss Le
Mesurier. The butler was respectful but doubtful. Miss Le Mesurier had
just arrived from a journey and was lying down. The