ka opened his cigarette case, selected one and after knocking the end
of it two or three times against the metal lid without putting it in his
mouth, looked up at his friend. "Cal, I'm afraid I've given you the idea
that Sobieska is incompetent. That is not so. The fact is, he is
devilish deep and clever. He never lets up once he has struck a trail.
He's probably hit on something now that he thinks should be
investigated. By the way, how's Saunderson of the Racquet?" So the
conversation drifted.

Their mutual friends in New York had included many women of gentle birth
with whom Paul Zulka had always been more or less of a favorite.
Concerning these, individually and collectively, Carter's replies to his
friend's inquiries had been equally frank and responsive.

"So you left no sweetheart behind, Cal?"

"No, Paul. I'd not leave a sweetheart. I'd make her my wife."

"In the face of a conge?"

"You ought to know me better. I never take 'no' for an answer." Carter's
pride glowed in his face as he made this reply.

"The Duchess of Schallberg," announced Zulka, "will marry the King of
Krovitch to unite the two houses. She has pledged herself." This
seemingly irrelevant announcement was made through a swirling cloud of
smoke.

"So?" Carter strove to make his reply partake of easy nonchalance, but
his throat tightened so that he could feel his face go red and hot. It
was as if Paul had intimated that he, Calvert Carter, would seek and be
refused by the Duchess of Schallberg. He was thankful the Krovitzer was
not looking just then.

Had he been wise, Carter would have said no more. But failing to
emphasize his disinterestedness, he added to his monosyllabic
exclamation a query in a studied tone of unconcern.

"What's that got to do with us, old chap?"

Zulka leaned forward confidentially as he laid a friendly hand upon the
other's knee.

"She's for neither you nor me, Cal," he said regretfully. "She must
marry a man she has never seen for the sake of a country that she
adores. Without this submission on her part we could count on no united
Krovitch. Our country worships her and will follow no king who will not
seat her upon his throne. Get that angel face out of your heart. Deafen
your ears to her voice before, like me, you try too late. Oh, I know, I
saw," he hastened on as Carter would have stopped him, "love makes all
eyes keen. You love Trusia."

As the significance of the last remark went home, Carter sat as