"

The Queen of Poltavia looked at the gentleman before her, who stood
very straight, his head alone bent, his clear fine eyes fixed upon her
own.

"Love!" she repeated softly, "how well you say the word."

A slight flush stole up the American's cheek.

"Supreme love," he ventured to continue, "means protection to the
woman...."

Here the Queen made an impatient gesture as though she shook away the
impression his tone made.

"My dear Gresthaven," she exclaimed, "love means above all else
happiness! One is happy with one person and miserable with another.
It's all a lottery and unless our plans miscarry I am going towards the
greatest happiness in the world. But come"--She altered her tone to
one of practical command--"Let us address ourselves to our flight. You
have your train schedule of course? The Dover train is due here at
4:50 and it only waits for the taking on of our carriage." As she
looked up at him she saw the trouble in his face, and a solicitude for
her to which she was unaccustomed.

"Mon cher ami," she said quizzically, "what, may I ask, since your
scruples are so great, ever led you to accept this mission....?"

"Frankly," he eagerly answered, and was honest in it, "the hope, the
desire that I might...."

"Persuade a woman in love against her heart?" she smiled, and so
sweetly, so convincingly, and so reasonably, he was for an instant all
on her side.

"I see my folly, your Majesty."

"There's nothing but _force majeure_, Gresthaven...."

"Yes" ... he admitted reluctantly. "Let me go out now and see to our
manoeuvres here." He was able to open the door which a passing guard
had unlocked unobserved....

The innocent royalty let him pass, thanking him with a smile, and saw
him go down the track toward the little squat station, with the guards.

Bulstrode, whose mind as he walked along was busy with train schedules,
recalled, nevertheless, the Duke's letter, which he still had in his
letter case, and he took it from his pocket and re-read it.

"... We are to have over the week-end a dash of royalty. Carmen-Magda,
the Queen of the petty kingdom of Poltavia." (This mention of the
Westboro' guests had quite escaped Bulstrode's mind in his
contemplation of the last page of the Duke's note.... "We are to have
a compatriot of your own, a Mrs. Jack Falconer.") And royalty being
very relative to the unsnobbish American, he had simply transferred the
title (with possibly a possessive