ill find a means," she said.

At her reception, an assemblage glittering with the diamonds and orders
of the great ones of the earth, she found only time to say: "Come
to-morrow at five. I shall be alone."

Darkness descended on Paul as he replied: "Impossible, Princess.
Colonel Winwood wants me at the House."

The next morning, greatly daring, he rang her up; for a telephone stood
on the Fortunate Youth's table in his private sitting-room in Portland
Place.

"It is I, Princess, Paul Savelli."

"What have you to say for yourself, Paul Savelli?"

"I am at your feet."

"Why can't you come to-day?"

He explained.

"But tell Colonel Winwood that I want you"--the voice was imperious.

"Would that be wise, Princess?"

"Wise?"

"Yes. Don't you see?"

He waited for an answer. There was blank electric current whirring
faintly on his ear. He thought she had rung off--rung off not only this
conversation, but all converse in the future. At last, after the
waiting of despair, came the voice, curiously meek. "Can you come
Friday?"

"With joy and delight." The words gushed out tempestuously.

"Good. At five o'clock. And leave your John Bull wisdom on the
doorstep."

She rang off abruptly, and Paul stood ruminating puzzlewise on the
audacious behest.

On Friday he presented himself at her house in Berkeley Square. He
found her gracious, but ironical in attitude, very much on the
defensive. She received him in the Empire drawing room--very stiff and
stately in its appointments. It had the charm (and the intrinsic value)
of a museum; it was as cosy as a room (under present arrangements) at
Versailles. The great wood fire alone redeemed it from artistic
bleakness. Tea was brought in by portentous, powdered footmen in
scarlet and gold. She was very much the princess; the princess in her
state apartments, a different personage from the pretty woman in a
boudoir. Paul, sensitive as far as it is given man to be, saw that if
he had obeyed her and left his John Bull wisdom on the doorstep, he
would have regretted it. Obviously she was punishing him; perhaps
herself; perhaps both of them. She kept a wary, appraising eye on him,
as they talked their commonplaces. Paul's attitude had the correctness
of a young diplomatist paying a first formal call. It was only when he
rose to go that her glance softened. She laughed a queer little laugh.

"I hear that you are going to address a meeting in the North of London
next week."