the
tepid waters of her bath, Mellie stood by, her smooth little Martian's
face disturbed. For she loved her mistress, and could not comprehend
the things she did under ambition's sway.

"Your Highness, couldn't you let your royal friends do these dangerous
things for you?"

"For what? For fear? And how could a Martian princess who knows fear
lay claim to a throne? No, Mellie, one gets used to it. The enemies of
the house of Sira are ever alert. Didn't they murder my father and my
mother, and my only brother? My peril in this palace is as great as in
the room of a terrestrial detective. Only their fear of the people--"

She was interrupted by the tinkling of a bell. The maid left the
alcove, and returned a moment later with the news that Joro, Prince of
Hanlon, awaited the princess's pleasure in the ante-room.

"At this hour!" exclaimed the princess. "Did he say what brought him
here?"

"Something about a new plot."

"Plots! They fall thicker than rain on Venus. Bid him wait."

Fifteen minutes later, swathed in a trailing orange silk robe that
made her look like a Venus orchid, she greeted the prince.

"Greetings, Joro. We seem to have the unusual this night."

The prince, a thin, elderly man of medium stature, smiled admiringly.
His sharp features and bright little button eyes gave some hint of the
energy which suffused him. Here was a man both ruthless and loyal to
his royal house. He addressed her by her given name.

"The hour seems to make no difference with you; Phobos has set, but as
long as you are awake there is loveliness enough. I have come, dear
one, to tell you that success is ours at last!"

* * * * *

Sira smiled. "I will restrain my joy, my good Joro, until I hear the
price."

"Always the same!" Joro chuckled. "A price, 'tis true, but not too
heavy, since you are, in a manner, fond of him."

"I've had vague promises from Wilcox," Sira said, with a wry smile. "I
would rather trade places with Mellie than be espoused by that
madman."

"Not Wilcox, but Scar Balta. He is badly smitten, for which I can not
blame him. He has great political power, and the backing of the
military. He could have dictated better terms, but for love of you has
yielded, point after point. He wants nothing now but your hand in
marriage, and is prepared to cede to the royal cause all the
advantages he has gained--"

"Not to mention," Sira interjected, "the royal prestige he will gain