ey knew,--of him, a breaker of
their laws, a guest, and yet a sinner against all their conventions; a
guest, and yet one whose hand it was which would strike them, some
day or other, the great blow! What would she think of him? He wondered
whether she would realize the truth, whether she would understand.
Almost as he asked himself the question, he smiled. To him it seemed a
strange proof of the danger in which a weaker man would stand of
passing under the yoke of this hateful Western civilization. To dream of
her--yes! To see her face shining upon him from every beautiful place,
to feel the delight of her presence with every delicious sensation,--the
warmth of the sunlight, the perfume of the blossoms he loved! There was
joy in this, the joy of the artist and the lover. But to find her in his
life, a real person, a daughter of this new world, whose every instinct
would be at war with his--that way lay slavery! He brushed the very
thought from him.

As he reached the door of his house in St. James' Square, it opened
slowly before him. He had brought his own servants from his own country,
and in their master's absence sleep was not for them. His butler spoke
to him in his own language. The Prince nodded and passed on. On his
study table--a curious note of modernism where everything seemed to
belong to a bygone world--was a cablegram. He tore it open. It consisted
of one word only. He let the thin paper fall fluttering from his
fingers. So the time was fixed!

Then Soto came gliding noiselessly into the room, fully dressed, with
tireless eyes but wan face,--Soto, the prototype of his master, the most
perfect secretary and servant evolved through all the years.

"Master," he said, "there has been trouble here. An Englishman came with
this card."

The Prince took it, and read the name of Inspector Jacks.

"Well?" he murmured.

"The man asked questions," Soto continued. "We spoke English so badly
that he was puzzled. He went away, but he will come again."

The Prince smiled, and laid his hand almost caressingly upon the other's
shoulder.

"It is of no consequence, Soto," he said,--"no consequence whatever."

CHAPTER XIV. AN ENGAGEMENT

"Your rooms, Prince, are wonderful," Penelope said to him. "I knew
that you were a man of taste, but I did not know that you were also a
millionaire."

He laughed softly.

"In my country," he answered, "there are no millionaires. The money
which we have, however, we spend,