savages. The truth is, we are nearly all animals more
or less. Some are caught by wiles, and some are trapped, and some revel
in being captured--and a few--a few are like me--they get away as a bird
with a shot in its wing."

Sabine was startled--what was agitating her friend?

"But your troubles are over, Morri, darling--your wings are strong and
free!"

"I said there was a shot in one of them."

Sabine came and sat upon a stool beside her, and took and caressed her
hand.

"Something has hurt you, dearest," she cooed, rubbing Moravia's arm with
her velvet cheek. "What is it?"

"No, I am not hurt--I am only cynical. I despise our sex--most of us are
just primitive savages underneath at one time of our lives or
another--we adore the strong man who captures us in spite of all our
struggles!"

"Morri!"

"It is perfectly true! we all pass through it. In the beginning, when
Girolamo devoured me with kisses and raged with jealousy, and one day
almost beat me, I absolutely worshipped him; it was when he became
polite--and then yawned that my misery began. You will go through it,
Sabine, if you have not already done so. It seems we suffer all the
time, because when that is over then we learn to appreciate gentleness
and chivalry--and probably by then it is out of our reach."

"I don't believe anything is out of our reach if we want it enough," and
Sabine closed her firm mouth.

"Then I wonder what you want, Sabine--because I know you do not really
want Lord Fordyce--he represents chivalry--and I don't believe you are
at that stage yet, dearest."

"What stage am I at, then, Morri?"

"The one when you want a master--you have mastered everything yourself
up to now--but the moment will come to you--and then you will be
fortunate, perhaps, if fate keeps the man away!"

Sabine's violet eyes grew black as night--and her little nostrils
quivered.

"I know nothing of passions, Moravia," she cried, and threw out her
arms. "I have only dreamed of them--imagined them. I am afraid of
them--afraid to feel too much. Henry will be a haven of rest--the
moment--can never come to me."

The Princess laughed a little bitterly.

"Then let us dress, darling, and go down and outshine all these dear,
dowdy Englishwomen; and while you are sipping courtesy and gentleness
with Lord Fordyce, I shall try to quaff gloriously attractive,
aboriginal force with Mr. Arranstoun--but it would have been more
suitable to our characters could