ited London several times, it must have
happened that I was interested in some one else or in a state of profound
reaction from love at the time--at least so I infer. It is a long while
ago. I remember only the fact.

"Those whom I tried to love would soon have tired of me had I not played
the game as adroitly as themselves, and if I had permitted them to feel
sure of me. The last thing any of them wanted was depth of feeling,
tragic passion. . . . My most desperate affair was my last--after a long
interval. . . . I was in my early forties. I had thought myself too
utterly disillusioned ever to imagine myself in love again. Men are
gross and ridiculous creatures in the main, and aside from my personal
disappointments, I thought it was time for that chapter of my life to
finish; I was amusing myself with diplomatic intrigue. I was in the
Balkans at the time, that breeding ground of war microbes, and I was
interested in a very delicate situation in which I played a certain part.

"The awakening was violent. He was an Austrian, with an important place
in the Government; he came to Belgrade on a private mission. He was a
very great person in many ways, and I think I really loved him, for he
seemed to me entirely worthy of it. He certainly was mad enough about me
for a time--for a year, to be exact. When he returned to Vienna it was
not difficult for me to find an excuse to go also. Although Zattiany was
a Hungarian, he never visited his Hungarian estates except for the boar
hunting, and spent his time when on leave, or between appointments, in
Vienna, where he had inherited a palace--I must tell you that the city
residence of a nobleman in the Dual Empire was always called a palace,
however much it might look like a house.

"I shall always remember this man with a certain pleasure and respect,
for he is the only man who ever made me suffer. A woman forgets the
lovers she has dismissed as quickly as possible. Their memory is hateful
to her, like the memory of all mistakes. But this man made me suffer
horribly. (He married a young girl, out of duty to his House, and
unexpectedly fell in love with her.) Therefore, although I recovered,
and completely, still do I sometimes dwell with a certain cynical
pleasure on the memory of him----"

"Have you never seen him since?" asked Clavering sharply. He had
returned to his chair. "How long ago was that?"

"Quite sixteen years ago. I did not visit Vienna again