as her woman puts
on her a maize satin tea-gown covered with point d'Alencon at five
o'clock the next day, and she knows that when she goes down to the room
in a few minutes Gervase, who was to arrive by the afternoon train, will
in all probability be present there.

Every one is in-doors that day, for a fine summer rain is falling
without, and has been falling since noon. All the house-party are in the
library, and the children are there also; the windows are open, and the
sweet smell from the damp gardens and wet grass fills the air.

Every one is laughing and talking; Usk is drinking a glass of kuemmel,
and Brandolin is playing with the dog; conversing with Nina Curzon and
the mistress of the house, and standing in front of them, is a tall fair
man irreproachable in _tenue_ and extremely distinguished in appearance.
He is Lord Gervase. His back is towards the door, and he does not see or
hear her enter, but as the Babe rushes towards her, toppling over a
stool and treading mercilessly on the trains of tea-gowns in the wind of
his going, the noise made by the child makes him turn his head, and an
expression of recognition mingled with amazement passes over his usually
impassive features.

"Is that not Princess Sabaroff?" he asks of his hostess, with a certain
breathless astonishment betrayed in his voice.

Lady Usk assents. "One of my dearest friends," she adds. "I think you
don't know her? I will present you in a moment. She is as clever as she
is beautiful. The children adore her. Look at Babe."

The Babe has dragged his princess to a couch and climbed up on it
himself, kneeling half on her lap and half off it, with no respect for
the maize satin, whilst his impatient little feet beat the devil's tatoo
among the point d'Alencon.

"My dear Babe, do not be such a monopolist," says Brandolin, as he
approaches with a cup of tea and a wafer of caviare bread-and-butter.
"Your shoes have seventeenth-century buckles, it is true, yet still they
are scarcely _bibelots_ to be wrapped up in a lady's dress."

The Babe grins saucily, tossing his hair out of his eyes; but, with
unwonted obedience, he disentangles his feet with some care out of the
lace.

Xenia Sabaroff does not take as much notice of him as usual. She is
reserved and preoccupied. Brandolin, like the child, fails in awakening
her interest or attention. She has seated herself almost with her back
to where Gervase is standing, but every now and then she loo