places: by which, I mean places where we do not expect to meet all our
acquaintances," she replied, as she sat down. "I think we manage to bore
each other quite enough in London, and we like each other all the better
when we meet again."

"Is not that rather an ungracious speech, Niti, seeing that one of the
said acquaintances has only just chanced to join us?" said the Professor
mildly.

"You mean as regards the Prince?" she laughed. "Certainly not. His
Highness is hardly an acquaintance--yet. You know we have only had the
pleasure of meeting him once: and then, of course, I said _all_ our
acquaintances. There might be exceptions."

These words, spoken with a quite indescribable charm, were, as he
thought, quite the sweetest that Oscarovitch had heard for many a day.
It had been perfectly easy for a man with his official influence to
trace by telegraph every movement that the Marmions had made after he
had guessed that they would travel by either Calais or Ostend. He had
wired for his yacht, the _Grashna_, to meet him at Dover, run across to
Ostend, found that they had left there for Cologne with through tickets
for Copenhagen, again guessed rightly that they would spend a few days
there and in Hamburg, and then steam away for the Sound.

The farther north he travelled, the farther he left Phadrig and his
phantasies behind, and the nearer he came to the belief that, if he had
only a fair chance and the field to himself, as he intended to have, he
would not find very much difficulty in convincing Nitocris that there
was no comparison at all between the humble naval officer she had left
behind to do his work on his dirty little destroyer, and the millionaire
Prince who could give her one of the noblest names in Europe and
everything that the heart of woman could desire. And now these
sweetly-spoken words and the glance which accompanied them, her
undisguised pleasure at the chance meeting, and her father's very
evident approval of his presence, quickly but finally convinced him
that he had come to a perfectly just conclusion.

Of course, there was the memory of another woman, only a little less
fair than Nitocris, who had shut herself up yonder in the gloomy Castle
of Trelitz, acting the farce of her official sorrow for love of him, and
pining for the time when the finding of her betrayed husband's corpse
should leave her free, after a decent interval of mock-mourning, to join
her lot with his: but what did that m