about
the far-off day. Incidents flaming in his mind had faded from hers. He
recalled forgotten things. Now and then she said: "Yes, I know that.
The Princess has told me." Evidently his Sophie was a conspirator of
deepest dye.

"And now you're the great Paul Savelli," she said.

"Great?" He laughed. "In what way?"

"Before this election you were a personage. I've never run across you
because we've been abroad so much, you know--my husband has a depraved
taste for governing places--but a year or two ago we were asked to the
Chudleys, and you were held out as an inducement."

"Good Lord!" said Paul, astonished.

"And now, of course, you're the most-discussed young man in London. Is
he damned or isn't he? You know what I refer to."

"Well, am I?' he asked pleasantly.

"I'm glad to see you take it like that. It's not the way of the little
people. Personally, I've stuck up for you, not knowing in the least who
you were. I thought you did the big, spacious thing. It gave me a
thrill when I read about it. Your speech in the House has helped you a
lot. Altogether--and now considering our early acquaintance--I think
I'm justified in calling you 'the great Paul Savelli.'"

Then came the shifting of talk. The Prince turned to his left-hand
neighbour; Lady Danesborough to her right. Paul and the Princess had
their conventional opportunity for conversation. She spoke in French,
daringly using the intimate "tu"; but of all sorts of things--books,
theatres, picture shows. Then tactfully she drew the Prince and his
neighbour and Lady Danesborough into their circle, and, pulling the
strings, she at last brought Paul and the Prince into a discussion over
the pictures of the Doges in the Ducal Palace in Venice. The young
Prince was gracious. Paul, encouraged to talk and stimulated by
precious memories, grew interesting. The Princess managed to secure a
set of listeners at the opposite side of the table. Suddenly, as if
carrying on the theme, she said in a deliberately loud voice,
compelling attention: "Your Royal Highness, I am in a dilemma."

"What is it?"

She paused, looked round and widened her circle. "For the past year I
have been wanting Mr. Savelli to ask me to marry him, and he
obstinately refuses to do so. Will you tell me, sir, what a poor woman
is to do?"

She addressed herself exclusively to the young Prince; but her voice,
with its adorable French intonation, rang high and clear. Paul,
suddenly white and rig