esent generation. It was typical of him, too,
she realized. It was never to the great women of the world that he
unbent most thoroughly. Gray hairs seemed to inspire his respect, to
command his attentions in a way that youth and beauty utterly failed to
do. These things seemed suddenly clear to Penelope as she stood there
watching him. A hundred little acts of graceful kindness, which she had
noticed and admired, returned to her memory. It was this man whom she
had lifted her hand to betray! It was this man who was to be accounted
guilty, even of crime! There came a sudden revulsion of feeling. The
whole mechanical outlook upon life, as she had known it, seemed, even in
those few seconds, to become a false and meretricious thing. Whatever
he had done or countenanced was right. She had betrayed his hospitality.
She had committed an infamous breach of trust. An overwhelming desire
came over her to tell him everything. She took a quick step forward and
found herself face to face with Somerfield. The Prince was buttonholed
by some friends and led away. The moment had passed.

"Come and talk to the Duchess," Somerfield said. "She has something
delightful to propose."

CHAPTER XVI. CONCERNING PRINCE MAIYO

The Duchess looked up from her writing table and nodded to her husband,
who had just entered.

"Good morning, Ambrose!" she said. "Do you want to talk to me?"

"If you can spare me five minutes," the Duke suggested. "I don't think
that I need keep you longer."

The Duchess handed her notebook to her secretary, who hastened from the
room. The Duke seated himself in her vacant chair.

"About our little party down in Hampshire next week," he began.

"I am waiting to hear from you before I send out any invitations," the
Duchess answered.

"Quite so," the Duke assented. "To tell you the truth, I don't want
anything in the nature of a house party. What I should really like would
be to get Maiyo there almost to ourselves."

His wife looked at him in some surprise.

"You seem particularly anxious to make things pleasant for this young
man," she remarked. "If he were the son of the Emperor himself, no one
could do more for him than you people have been doing these last few
weeks."

The Duke of Devenham, Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, whose wife
entertained for his party, and whose immense income, derived mostly from
her American relations, was always at its disposal, was a person almost
as important in the