many
words, of course. On the other hand, he might show you what was in his
mind."

"He is going back very shortly," Penelope remarked.

Mr. Harvey nodded.

"That is why I sent for you to come immediately. You will see him
tonight at Devenham House."

"With all the rest of the world," she answered, "but a man is not likely
to talk confidentially under such conditions."

Mr. Harvey rose to his feet.

"It is only a chance, of course," he admitted, "but remember that you
know more than any other person in this country except myself. It would
be impossible for the Prince to give you credit for such knowledge. A
casual remark, a word, perhaps, may be sufficient."

Penelope held out her hand. The servant for whom the Ambassador had rung
was already in the room.

"I will try," she promised. "Ask Mrs. Harvey to excuse my going up to
see her this afternoon. I have another call to make, and I want to rest
before the function tonight."

The Ambassador bowed, and escorted her to the door.

"I have confidence in you, Penelope," he said. "You will try your best?"

"Oh, yes!" she answered with a queer little laugh, "I shall do that. But
I don't think that even you quite understand Prince Maiyo!"

CHAPTER XII. PENELOPE INTERVENES

The perfume of countless roses, the music of the finest band in Europe,
floated through the famous white ballroom of Devenham House. Electric
lights sparkled from the ceiling, through the pillared way the ceaseless
splashing of water from the fountains in the winter garden seemed like
a soft undernote to the murmur of voices, the musical peals of laughter,
the swirl of skirts, and the rhythm of flying feet.

Penelope stood upon the edge of the ballroom, her hand resting still
upon her partner's arm. She wore a dress of dull rose-color, a soft,
clinging silk, which floated about her as she danced, a creation of
Paquin's, daring but delightful. Her eyes were very full and soft. She
was looking her best, and knew it. Nevertheless, she was just at the
moment, a little _distrait_. She was watching the brilliant scene with a
certain air of abstraction, as though her interest in it was, after all,
an impersonal thing.

"Jolly well every one looks tonight," her partner, who was Sir Charles,
remarked. "All the women seem to be wearing smart frocks, and some of
those foreign uniforms are gorgeous."

"Even the Prince," Penelope said thoughtfully, "must find some
reflection of the philosophy of h