ng among his guests, was
lost to me.

I cannot tell you, my dear Prince, how much time elapsed between this
and the arrival of the home-grown Potentate--as you must allow me to
call him until we meet and I can whisper his august name. But I know
that shortly after his arrival, while I still loafed in my recess and
hoped that Violet would soon drift in my direction and allow herself
to be taken home, the throng around me began to thin in a most curious
manner. How it happened--whence it started and how it spread--I cannot
tell you. Only it seemed as if something began to be whispered, and
the whisper melted the crowd like sugar. Almost before I grew aware
of what was happening, I could see the far side of the room, and the
Potentate there by Mrs. Seely-Hardwicke's side; and could mark their
faces. His was cast in a polite, but slightly rigid smile. His eyes
wandered. That supernumerary sense which all his family possesses had
warned him that something was wrong. Mrs. Seely-Hardwicke's face was
white as chalk, though her eyes returned his smile.

At this moment Violet came towards me.

"Take me home," she commanded, but under her breath. As she said it
she shivered.

"What on earth is the matter?" I demanded.

She pulled me by the sleeve. I looked up and saw a white-haired man,
of military carriage, walking towards His Royal Highness. He came to
a halt, a pace off, and stood as if anxious to speak. I saw also
that Mrs. Seely-Hardwicke would not allow him a chance, but talked
desperately. I saw groups of people, up and down the room, regarding
her even as we. And then the door was flung open.

Seely-Hardwicke came running in with Billy in his arms--or rather,
with Billy's body. The child had died at four that afternoon, of
diphtheria.

I got Violet out of the room as soon as I could. The man's language
was frightful--filthy. And his wife straightened herself up and
answered him back. It was a babel of obscene Frisco curses: but I
remember one clear sentence of hers from the din--

"You--, you! And d'ye think _my_ heart won't go to pieces when my
stays are cut?"

* * * * *

All the way home Violet kept sobbing and crying out that she was never
driven so slowly. She was convinced that some harm had happened to
her own Jack. She ran up to the night-nursery at once and woke your
god-child out of a healthy sleep. And he arose in his full strength
and yelled.

II.--THE GREAT FIRE