r at
half past twelve and we came out just before two. We sat on chairs, and
the conversation was quite decorous."

"This is most disappointing!" Louise murmured. "I cannot think why the
prince never invites us."

"The ladies of his family were not present," John remarked stiffly.

There was a moment's silence. Louise had looked down at her plate, and
Sophy glanced out of the window.

"Is it true that Calavera was there?" the latter asked presently.

"Yes, she was there," John replied. "She danced after supper."

"Oh, you lucky man!" Louise sighed. "She only dances once or twice a
year off the stage. Is she really so wonderful close to?"

"She is, in her way, very wonderful," John agreed.

"Confess that you admired her," Louise persisted.

"I thought her dancing extraordinary," he confessed, "and, to be
truthful, I did admire her. All the same, hers is a hateful gift."

Louise looked at him curiously for a moment. His face showed few signs
of the struggle through which he had passed, but the grim setting of his
lips reminded her a little of his brother. He had lost, too, something
of the boyishness, the simple light-heartedness of the day before.
Instinctively she felt that the battle had begun. She asked him no more
about the supper party, and Sophy, quick to follow her lead, also
dropped the subject.

Luncheon was not a lengthy meal, and immediately its service was
concluded, Sophy rose to her feet with a sigh.

"I must go and finish my work," she declared. "Let me have the den to
myself for at least an hour, please, Louise. It will take me longer than
that to muddle through your books."

Louise nodded and rose to her feet.

"We will leave you entirely undisturbed," she promised. "I hope, when
you have finished, you will have something more agreeable to say than
you had before lunch. Shall we have our coffee up-stairs?" she
suggested, turning to John.

"I should like to very much," he replied. "I want to talk to you alone."

She led the way up-stairs into the cool, white drawing-room, with its
flower-perfumed atmosphere and its delicate, shadowy air of repose. She
curled herself up in a corner of the divan and gave him his coffee. Then
she leaned back and looked at him.

"So you have really come to London, Mr. Countryman!"

"I have followed you," he answered. "I think you knew that I would. I
tried not to," he went on, after a moment's pause. "I fought against it
as hard as I could; but in the en