rn
out the lights, Annette. I am not fit to be seen. And move my couch a
little, so."

"Madame is only a little pale," the maid said reassuringly. "That makes
nothing. These Englishwomen have all too much colour. I go to tell
monsieur."

She disappeared, and the Princess lay still upon her couch, thinking.
Soon she heard steps outside, and with a little sigh she turned her
head toward the door. The man who entered was tall, and of the ordinary
type of well-born Englishmen. He was carefully dressed, and his
somewhat scanty hair was arranged to the best advantage. His features
were hard and lifeless. His eyes were just a shade too close together.
The maid ushered him in and withdrew at once.

"Come and sit by my side, Nigel, if you want to talk to me," the
Princess said. "Walk softly, please. I really have a headache."

"No wonder, in this close room," the man muttered, a little
ungraciously. "It smells as though you had been burning incense here."

"It suits me," the Princess answered calmly, "and it happens to be my
room. Bring that chair up here and say what you have to say."

The man obeyed in silence. When he had made himself quite comfortable,
he raised her hand, the one which was nearest to him, to his lips, and
afterwards retained it in his own.

"Forgive me if I seem unsympathetic, Ena," he said. "The fact is,
everything has been getting on my nerves for the last few days, and my
luck seems dead out."

She looked at him curiously. She was past middle age, and her face
showed signs of the wear and tear of life. But she still had fine eyes,
and the rejuvenating arts of Bond Street had done their best for her.

"What is the matter, Nigel?" she asked. "Have the cards been going
against you?"

He frowned and hesitated for a moment before replying.

"Ena," he said, "between us two there is an ancient bargain, and that
is that we should tell the truth to one another. I will tell you what
it is that is worrying me most. I have suspected it for some time, but
this afternoon it was absolutely obvious. There is a sort of feeling at
the club. I can't exactly describe it, but I am conscious of it
directly I come into the room. For several days I have scarcely been
able to get a rubber. This afternoon, when I cut in with Harewood and
Mildmay and another fellow, two of them made some sort of an excuse and
went off. I pretended not to notice it, of course, but there it was.
The thing was apparent, and it is the ver