lf perfectly solvent; and meeting the
somewhat dubious Leader of the Opposition later in the day he said:
"Anyhow, this 'far too gentlemanly party' has got someone picturesque,
at last, to touch the popular imagination."

"A new young Disraeli?"

"Why not?"

The Leader made a faint gesture of philosophic doubt. "The mould is
broken," said he.

"We'll see," said Frank Ayres, confidently.

Meanwhile, Paul returned to his room and wrote a letter, three words of
which he had put on paper--"My dear Princess"--when the summons to meet
the Chief Whip had come. The unblotted ink had dried hard. He took
another sheet.

"My dear Princess," he began.

He held his head in his hand. What could he say? Ordinary courtesy
demanded an acknowledgment of the Princess's message of inquiry. But to
write to her whom he had held close in his arms, whose lips had clung
maddeningly to his, in terms of polite convention seemed impossible.
What had she meant by her message? If she had gone scornfully out of
his life, she had gone, and there was an end on't. Her coming back
could bear only one interpretation--that of Jane's passionate
statement. In spite of all, she loved him. But now, stripped and naked
and at war with the world, for all his desire, he would have none of
her love. Not he.... At last he wrote:

PRINCESS,--A thousand grateful thanks for last night's gracious
act--the act of the very great lady that I have the privilege of
knowing you to be.

PAUL SAVELLI.

He rang for a servant and ordered the note to be sent by hand, and then
went out to Hickney Heath to see to the burying of his dead. On his
return he found a familiar envelope with the crown on the flap awaiting
him. It contained but few words:

PAUL, come and see me. I will stay at home all day.

SOPHIE.

His pulses throbbed. Her readiness to await his pleasure proved a
humility of spirit rare in Princess Sophie Zobraska. Her hands were
held out towards him. But he hardened his heart. The fairy-tale was
over. Nothing but realities lay before him. The interview was perilous;
but he was not one to shirk danger. He went out, took a cab and drove
to Berkeley Square.

She rose shyly as he entered and advanced to meet him. He kissed her
hand, but when he sought to release it he found his held in her warm
clasp. "Mon Dieu! How ill you are looking!" she said, and her lips
quivered.

"I'm only tired."

"You look so old. Ah!" She moved away from him with a sigh. "S