ely. "Do you suppose that this life of
lies and deceit is pleasant to me? Do you suppose that it is a pleasant
task to lure a brave man on to his ruin?"

The Prince raised his eyebrows.

"Come," he said, "you can have no sympathy with Reginald Brott, the
sworn enemy of our class, a Socialist, a demagogue who would parcel out
our lands in allotments, a man who has pledged himself to nothing more
nor less than a revolution."

"The man's views are hateful enough," she answered, "but he is in
earnest, and however misguided he may be there is something noble in his
unselfishness, in his, steady fixedness of purpose."

The Prince's face indicated his contempt.

"Such men," he declared, "are only fit to be crushed like vermin under
foot. In any other country save England we should have dealt with him
differently."

"This is all beside the question," she declared. "My task was to prevent
his becoming Prime Minister, and I have succeeded."

The Prince gave vent to a little gesture of dissent. "Your task," he
said, "went a little farther than that. We require his political ruin."

She pointed to the pile of newspapers upon the table.

"Read what they say!" she exclaimed. "There is not one who does not use
that precise term. He has missed his opportunity. The people will never
trust him again."

"That, at any rate, is not certain," the Prince said. "You must remember
that before long he will realise that he has been your tool. What
then? He will become more rabid than ever, more also to be feared. No,
Lucille, your task is not yet over. He must be involved in an open and
public scandal, and with you."

She was white almost to the lips with passion.

"You expect a great deal!" she exclaimed. "You expect me to ruin my
life, then, to give my honour as well as these weary months, this
constant humiliation."

"You are pleased to be melodramatic," he said coldly. "It is quite
possible to involve him without actually going to extremes."

"And what of my husband?" she asked.

The Prince laughed unpleasantly.

"If you have not taught him complaisance," he said, "it is possible, of
course, that Mr. Sabin might be unkind. But what of it? You are your
own mistress. You are a woman of the world. Without him there is an
infinitely greater future before you than as his wife you could ever
enjoy."

"You are pleased," she said, "to be enigmatic."

The Prince looked hard at her. Her face was white and set. He sighed.

"Luci