sharp crash."

"I've heard he has tried to kill that woman in Paris half a dozen
times," remarked one of the women, taking it as a matter of course that
every one knew who she meant by "that woman." As no one even so much as
looked askance, it is to be presumed that every one knew.

"She was really responsible for the postponement of the wedding in
December, I'm told. Of course, I don't know that it is true," said the
Marchioness, wisely qualifying her gossip. "My brother, the Grand Duke,
does not confide in me."

"Oh, I think that story was an exaggeration," said her husband. "Genevra
says that he was very ill--nervous something or other."

"Probably true, too. He's a wreck. She will be the prettiest widow in
Europe before Christmas," said the young count. "Unless, of course, any
one of the excellent husbands surrounding me should die," he added
gallantly.

"Well, my heart bleeds for her," said Deppingham.

"She's going into it with her eyes open," said the Prince. "It isn't as
if she hadn't been told. She could see for herself. She knows there's
the other woman in Paris and--Oh, well, why should we make a funeral of
it? Let's do our best to be revellers, not mourners. She'll live to fall
in love with some other man. They always do. Every woman has to love at
least once in her life--if she lives long enough. Come, come! Is my
entertainment to develop into a premature wake? Let us forget the future
of the Princess Genevra and drink to her present!"

"And to her past, if you don't mind, Prince!" amended Lord Deppingham,
looking into his wife's sombre eyes.

CHAPTER XXXVI

THE TITLE CLEAR

Two men and a woman stood in the evening glow, looking out over the
tranquil sea that crept up and licked the foot of the cliff. At their
back rose the thick, tropical forest; at its edge and on the nape of the
cliff stood a bungalow, fresh from the hands of a hundred willing
toilsmen. Below, on their right, lay the gaudy village, lolling in the
heat of the summer's day. Far off to the north, across the lowlands and
beyond the sweep of undulating and ever-lengthening hills, could be seen
a great, reddish structure, its gables and towers fusing with the sombre
shades of the mountain against which they seemed to lean.

It was September. Five months had passed since the _King's Own_ steamed
away from the harbour of Aratat. The new dispensation was in full
effect. During the long, sickening weeks that preceded the comin