the saddle and the gun. No wonder I got away from the dull
Society life of Vienna, where women are slaves."

"I like being a slave, if rest is slavery," murmured her mother.

"Would not your father let you ride and shoot, Mademoiselle Olga?"

"Ah yes, in a measure. But he is an Austrian of the old school. He does
not believe in a woman being independent. My mother, who is obedient and
good, is the wife he loves."

"The Prince has been very kind to me. He does not trouble me."

"He wouldn't let the air blow too roughly on you, mother," said Olga,
with a scornful laugh. "He is a descendant of those Magyars who had
Circassian slaves, and adores them as playthings. I am different."

"You are terribly _farouche_, Olga," sighed the elder woman. "Your
father has forgiven you, but he is still annoyed. I had the greatest
difficulty in getting his permission to come over here."

"He doubtless thinks you will be able to bring me back to marry Count
Taroc," replied Olga composedly, "but I stay." She looked at Giles
again, as if he were the reason she thus decided. To change the
conversation he stood up.

"I fear I fatigue you ladies," he said, looking very straight and
handsome. "You will wish to retire."

"Certainly I retire," said the Princess. "But my daughter----"

"I shall stop and talk with Mr. Ware."

"Olga!" murmured her mother, rather shocked.

"I fear I have to go," said Giles uneasily.

"No. You must stop. I have to talk to you about Anne."

"Who is this Anne?" asked the Princess, rising lazily.

"No one you know, mother. A friend of Mr. Ware's. Now you must retire,
and Katinka shall make you comfortable."

"You will not be long, Olga? If your father knew--"

"My father will not know," broke in her daughter, leading the elder
woman to the door. "You will not tell him. Besides," (she shrugged), "we
women are free in England. What would shock my father is good form in
this delightful country."

The Princess murmured something to Giles in a sleepy tone, and lounged
out of the room bulky but graceful. When she departed and the door was
closed, Olga threw open the windows. "Pah!" she said, throwing the
pastiles out of doors, "I cannot breathe in this atmosphere. And you,
Mr. Ware?"

"I prefer untainted airs," he replied, accepting a cigarette.

"The airs of the moors and of the mountains," she exclaimed, drawing
herself up and looking like a huntress in her free grace. "I also. I
love wide spaces and c