ings in the world.
She is very beautiful, too."

"She is beautiful enough," Maggie replied, "to have turned the head of
the great Paul Matinsky himself. They say that he would give his soul to
be free to marry her. As it is, she is the uncrowned Tsarina of Russia."

Nigel frowned slightly.

"Isn't that going rather a long way?" he objected.

"Not when one remembers what manner of a man Matinsky is," Maggie
replied. "He may have his faults, but he is an absolute idealist so far
as regards his private life. There has never been a word of scandal
concerning him and Naida, nor will there ever be. But in his eyes, Naida
has that most wonderful gift of all,--she has vision. He once told a man
with whom I spoke in Berlin that Naida was the one person in the world
to whom a mistake was impossible. Nigel, did she give you any idea at
all what she was over here for?"

"Not as yet," he replied, "but she has asked me to go and see her."

"Did she seem interested in you personally, or was it because your name
is Dorminster?"

Nigel sighed.

"I hoped it was a personal interest, but I cannot tell. She asked me
whether I had inherited my uncle's hobby."

"What did you tell her?" she asked eagerly.

"Very little. She seemed sympathetic, but after all she is in the enemy
camp. She and Immelan seemed on particularly good terms."

"Yet I don't believe that she is committed as yet," Maggie declared.
"She always used to speak so affectionately of England. Nigel, do you
think that I have vision?"

"I am sure that you have," he answered.

"Very well, then, I will tell you what I see," she continued. "I see
Naida Karetsky for Russia, Oscar Immelan for Germany, Austria and
Sweden, and Prince Shan for Asia--here--meeting in London--within the
next week or ten days, to take counsel together to decide whether the
things which are being plotted against us to-day shall be or shall not
be. Of Immelan we have no hope. He conceals it cleverly enough, but he
hates England with all the fervour of a zealot. Naida is unconvinced.
She is to be won. And Prince Shan--"

"Well, what about him?" Nigel demanded, a little carried away by
Maggie's earnestness.

She shook her head.

"I don't know," she confessed. "If the stories one hears about him are
true, no man nor any woman could ever influence him. At least, though,
one could watch and hope."

"Prince Shan is supposed to be coming to Paris, not to London," Nigel
remarked.

"If he goes