can be demure, then
demure was the Princess Sophie Zobraska. Paul, who prided himself on
his knowledge of feminine subtlety, was at fault; but who was he to
appreciate the repressive influence of a practical-minded convent
friend, quickly formative and loudly assertive of opinions, on an
impressionable lady awakening to curiosities? He was just a dunderhead,
like any one of us--just as much as the most eminent feminine
psychologist alive--which is saying a good deal. So he drove away
disappointed, the sobriety of the chestnut's return trot through
Morebury contrasting oddly with the dashing clatter of the former
journey.

It was some time before he met the Princess again, for an autumn
session of Parliament required migration to Portland Place. The
Princess, indeed, came to London, shortly afterwards, to her great
house in Berkeley Square; but it was not till late November that he was
fortunate enough to see her. Then it was only a kiss of the hand and a
hurried remark or two, at a large dinner-party at the Winwoods'. You
see, there are such forces as rank and precedence at London
dinner-parties, to which even princesses and fortunate youths have to
yield.

On this occasion, as he bent over her hand, he murmured: "May I say how
beautiful you are to-night, Princess?"

She wore a costume of silver and deep blue, and the blue intensified
the blue depths of her eyes. "I am delighted to please monsieur," she
said in French.

And that was their meeting. On parting she said again in French: "When
are you coming to see me, fickle one?"

"Whenever you ask me. I have called in vain."

"You have a card for my reception next Tuesday?"

"I have replied that I do myself the honour of accepting the Princess's
gracious invitation."

"I don't like London, do you?" she asked, allowing a touch of
wistfulness to inflect her voice.

"It has its charms. A row on the Serpentine, for instance, or a bicycle
ride in Battersea Park."

"How lovely it would be," she said, between laugh and sigh, "if only it
could be kept out of the newspapers! I see it from here under the
Fashionable Intelligence. 'The beautiful Princess Zobraska was observed
in a boat on the ornamental water in Regent's Park with the
well-known--tiens--what are you?--politician, say--with the well-known
young politician, Mr. Paul Savelli.' Quel scandale, hein?"

"I must content myself with kissing your finger tips at your
reception," said Paul.

She smiled. "We w