ith yellow papers, your aristocracy of mind with a devastating income
tax. This is the class whom you left to gorge,--the war profiteers. I
hope that whoever writes the history of these times will see that it is
properly illustrated."

In the lounge, they had barely seated themselves before Naida, with her
father and Immelan, appeared. The little party at once joined up, and
Naida seated herself next to Nigel. She talked very slowly, but her
accent amounted to little more than a prolongation of certain syllables,
which had the effect of a rather musical drawl. Her father, after the
few words of introduction had been spoken, strolled away to speak to
some acquaintances, and Immelan and the Prince discussed with measured
politeness one of the commonplace subjects of the moment. Naida and her
companion became almost isolated.

"I met your uncle once," Naida said, "at a dinner party in Paris. I
remember that he attracted me. He represented a class of Englishman of
whom I had met very few, the thinking aristocrat with a sense for
foreign affairs. It was some years ago, that. He remained outside
politics, did he not, until his death?"

"Outside all practical politics," Nigel assented. "He had his interests,
though."

She looked at him thoughtfully.

"Have you inherited them?" she asked.

He declined the challenge of her eyes. After all, she belonged to the
Russia whose growing strength was the greatest menace to European peace,
and whose attitude towards England was entirely uncertain.

"My uncle and I were scarcely intimate," he said. "I was never really in
his confidence."

"Not so much so as Lady Maggie Trent? She would be your cousin?"

"It is not a relationship of blood," Nigel replied. "Lady Maggie was the
daughter of my uncle's second wife."

"She is very charming," Naida murmured.

"I find her delightful," Nigel agreed.

"She is not only charming, but she has intelligence," Naida continued.
"I think that Lord Dorminster was very fond of her, that he trusted her
with many of his secrets."

"Had he secrets?" Nigel asked.

She remained for a moment very thoughtful, smoking a thin cigarette
through a long holder and watching the little rings of smoke.

"You are right," she said at last. "I find your attitude the only
correct one. Did you know that Maggie was a friend of mine, Lord
Dorminster?"

"I can very well believe it," he answered, "but I have never heard her
speak of you."

"Ah! But she has be