the two go on.

"Let the boy have his chance," Allan said, pausing a little as we turned
into the Boulevard. "He's in such a state that he won't listen to reason
only from her."

"But," I protested, "it is absurd for him to speak to her. Does he know
who she is? The Princess Isobel of Waldenburg! Their little kingdom is
small enough, but they play at royalty there."

Allan nodded.

"He knows. But he's a good-looking boy, and the girls have spoilt him a
little. He has an idea that she cares for him."

"Impossible!" I declared, sharply.

"No! Not impossible!" Allan answered, shaking his head. "They have been
together a great deal, you must remember, and Arthur can be a very
delightful companion when he chooses. No, it isn't impossible, Arnold."

I shook my head.

"Isobel's future is already arranged," I said. "In three days' time I am
taking her to her grandfather. If he receives her, as I believe that he
will receive her, she will pass out of our lives as easily as she came
into them. She will marry a grand duke, perhaps even a petty king. She
will be plunged into all manner of excitements and gaiety. Her years
with us will never be mentioned at Court. She herself will soon learn to
look back on them as a quaint episode."

"You do not believe it, Arnold?" Mabane declared scornfully.

"Heaven only knows what I believe," I answered, with a little burst of
bitterness. "Look at that!"

We had reached the Rue de St. Antoine. Isobel stood in the doorway at
the apartments waiting for us. But Arthur had already disappeared.

CHAPTER VII

I examined the tickets carefully and placed them in my pocket-book. Then
I paused to light a cigarette on my way out of the office, and almost
immediately felt a hand upon my arm. I looked at first at the hand. It
was feminine and delicately gloved. Then I looked upwards into the blue
eyes of Lady Delahaye.

"Abominable!" she murmured. "You are not glad to see me!"

I raised my hat.

"The Boulevard des Italiennes," I said, "has never seemed to me to be a
place peculiarly suitable for the display of emotion."

"Come and try the Rue Strelitz," she answered, smiling.

I glanced down at her. She was gowned even more perfectly than
usual--Parisienne to the finger-tips. She had too all the delightful
confidence of a woman who knows that she is looking her best.

I smiled back at her. It was impossible to take her seriously.

"Your invitation," I said, "sounds most att