"There is certainly no mistake," he answered, smiling. "The first one
was bought by--let me see--a nobleman in the suite of the Archduchess of
Bristlaw, the Baron von Leibingen. I believe that her Highness is
proposing to visit the Exhibition this afternoon. The other purchaser
paid cash, but refused his name. Ah! Excuse me!"

He rose hastily, and moved towards the door. A little group of people
were entering, before whom the bystanders gave way with all that respect
which the British public invariably displays for Royalty. Isobel watched
them with frank and eager interest. Mabane and I moved over to her side.

"Is it true?" I asked her.

"He says so," she answered, still a little bewildered. "Arnold, can you
imagine it? Forty guineas! I--I----"

There followed an amazing interlude. The little party of newcomers,
before whom everyone was obsequiously giving way, came face to face with
us. Mabane and I stepped back at once, but Isobel remained motionless.
An extraordinary change had come over her. Her eyes seemed fastened upon
the woman who was the central figure of the little procession, and the
girl who walked by her side. Someone whispered to her to move back. She
took no notice. She seemed as though she had not heard. Royalty raised
its lorgnettes, and dropped them with a crash upon the polished wood
floor. Then those who were quick to understand knew that something lay
beneath this unusual awkwardness.

The manager of the Gallery, who, catalogue in hand, had been prepared
personally to conduct the Royal party round, looked about him, wondering
as to the cause of the _contretemps_. His eyes fell upon Isobel.

"Please step back," he whispered to her, angrily. "Don't you see that
the Princess is here, and the Archduchess of Bristlaw? Clear the way,
please!"

The manager was a small man, and Isobel's eyes travelled over his head.
She did not seem to hear him speak. The Archduchess recovered herself.
She took the shattered lorgnettes from the hand of her lady-in-waiting.
She pointed to Isobel.

"Who is this young person?" she asked calmly. "Does she wish to speak to
me?"

A wave of colour swept into Isobel's cheeks. She drew back at once.

"I beg your pardon, Madame," she said. But even when she had rejoined my
side her eyes remained fixed upon the face of the Archduchess and her
companion.

There was a general movement forward. One of the ladies in the suite,
however, lingered behind. Our eyes met, and La