o come."

"And I will ask Adela," said the Princess.

"Come then, Moricourt," said the Princess, "if you want to rehearse that
play before we act it."

"Pray do," said Lady Chaloner anxiously. "I am sure people who act
always rehearse first."

"I am more than willing," said M. de Moricourt, throwing an infinity of
expression into his voice and glance as he looked at the Princess.

"Some parts especially will require a great deal of rehearsing." And
they departed together.

"She is so amusin'," said Lady Chaloner to Pateley. "I really don't know
anybody that can be more amusin' when she likes."

Pateley gave a round, sonorous laugh of agreement, tantamount to a smile
of assent in any one else. He wisely did not commit himself to any
expression of opinion as to the accomplished wit of the Princess, which
at all events as far as he had had opportunity of observing it, did not
strike him as being of a very subtle character.

CHAPTER XXI

The echoes of the band which was enlivening the promenade we have just
left penetrated to the pavilion where Rachel and her husband were
sitting alone. A little path ran from the back of the pavilion straight
up into the woods. At certain hours, when the fashionable world met to
drink the waters, to listen to the band, or to talk at the Casino, the
woodland path was almost deserted. At no time was it very crowded, as it
was a short and rather steep short cut to a walk through the wood which
could be reached by a more convenient access from the principal street
in the town.

Rendel, although it had not occurred to him to look at a Visitors' List,
and although he did not realise yet how many people he knew were at
Schleppenheim, still had a strange, unpleasant feeling, horribly new to
him, of shrinking from meeting any one he had ever seen before. He had
seen the woodland path, and was wondering if he should go and explore it
at this hour when presumably every one was listening to the band, of
which the incessant strains heard in the distance were beginning to be
maddening. As he looked up vaguely, the little door into the garden
opened, and he saw the familiar figure of Wentworth appear. His heart
stood still. Did Wentworth know? Was he coming out of compassion? And at
the same moment that he thought it, further back somewhere in his mind
he was conscious of the absurdity of Wentworth having become suddenly so
important--Wentworth's opinion, his personality mattering, his