en place in the spring
months. Is not the Ides of March written large in the story of this
planet?

Netty had not been many minutes in the gardens when Prince Martin came
to her. He had laid aside his fur coat for a lighter cloak of English
make, which made him look thinner. His face, too, was thin and spare,
like the face of a man who is working hard at work or sport. But he was
gay and light-hearted as ever. Neither did he make any disguise of his
admiration for Netty.

"It is three days," he said, "since I have seen you. And it seems like
three years."

Which is the sort of remark that can only be ignored by the discreet.
Besides, Prince Martin did not go so far as to state why the three days
had been so tedious. It might be for some other reason altogether.

"My uncle has been pressing us to go away," said Netty, "to the south of
France, to Nice, but----"

"But what?"

"Well," answered Netty, after a pause, "you see for yourself--we have
not gone."

"It is a very selfish hope--but I hope you will stay," said Prince
Martin. He looked down at her, and the thought of her possible departure
caught him like a vise. He was a person of impulse, and (which is
not usual) his impulse was as often towards good as towards evil. She
looked, besides looking pretty, rather small and frail, and dependent at
that moment, and all the chivalry of his nature was aroused. It was
only natural that he should think that she had all the qualities he knew
Wanda to possess, and, of course, in an infinitely higher degree. Which
is the difference between one's own sister and another person's. She was
good, and frank, and open. The idea of concealment between himself and
her was to be treated with scorn.

"I will tell you," he said, "if at any time there is any reason why you
cannot stay."

"But why should there be any reason--" she began, and a quick movement
that he made to look round and see who was in sight, who might be within
hearing, made her stop.

"Oh! I do not want you to tell me anything. I do not want to know," she
said hurriedly. Which was the absolute truth; for politics bored her
horribly.

He looked at her with a laugh, and only loved her all the more, for
persisting in her ignorance of those matters which are always better
left to men.

"I almost missed," he said gayly, "an excellent opportunity of holding
my tongue."

"Only----" began Netty, as if in continuation of her protest against
being told anything.