ry if its contents have alarmed you."

She scarcely heard his words. The room seemed wheeling round with her,
the floor unsteady beneath her feet. The atmosphere of the place
had suddenly become horrible,--the faint odor of burning leaves, the
pictures, almost like caricatures, which mocked her from the walls, the
grinning idols, the strangely shaped weapons in their cases of black
oak. She faltered as she crossed the room, but recovered herself.

"Aunt," she said, "if you are ready, I think that we ought to go."

The Duchess was more than ready. She rose promptly. The Prince walked
with them to the door and handed them over to his majordomo.

"It has been so nice of you," he said to the Duchess, "to honor my
bachelor abode. I shall often think of your visit."

"My dear Prince," the Duchess declared, "it has been most interesting.
Really, I found it hard to believe, in that charming room of yours, that
we had not actually been transported to your wonderful country."

"You are very gracious," the Prince answered, bowing low.

Penelope's hands were within her muff. She was talking some
nonsense--she scarcely knew what, but her eyes rested everywhere save
on the face of her host. Somehow or other she reached the door, ran down
the steps and threw herself into a corner of the brougham. Then, for
the first time, she allowed herself to look behind. The door was already
closed, but between the curtains which his hands had drawn apart, Prince
Maiyo was standing in the room which they had just quitted, and there
was something in the calm impassivity of his white, stern face which
seemed to madden her. She clenched her hands and looked away.

"Really, I was not so much bored as I had feared," the Duchess remarked
composedly. "That Stretton-Wynne woman generally gets on my nerves, but
her nephew seemed to have a restraining effect upon her. She didn't tell
me more than once about her husband's bad luck in not getting Canada,
and she never even mentioned her girls. But I do think, Penelope," she
continued, "that I shall have to talk to you a little seriously. There's
the best-looking and richest young bachelor in London dying to marry
you, and you won't have a word to say to him. On the other hand, after
starting by disliking him heartily, you are making yourself almost
conspicuous with this fascinating young Oriental. I admit that he
is delightful, my dear Penelope, but I think you should ask yourself
whether it is quite wo