a mesh of the most appalling complications which
reach right up to the Throne."

"Never mind, Des," she said, leaning over and putting a little hand on
my arm, "it was for Francis; you and I would do anything to help him,
wouldn't we? ... if he is still alive. Impulse is not such a bad thing,
after all. If I had acted on impulse once, maybe poor Francis would not
now be in the fix he is...."

And she sighed.

"Things look black enough, Des," she went on. "Maybe you and I won't get
the chance of another chat like this again and that's why I'm going to
tell you something I have never told anybody else. I am only telling you
so as you will know that, whatever happens, you will always find in me
an ally in your search ... though, tied as I am, I scarcely think I can
ever help you much.

"Your brother wanted me to marry him. I liked him better than
anybody else I had ever met ... or have ever met since, for that
matter.... Daddy was dead, I was absolutely free to please myself, so no
difficulties stood in the way. But your brother was proud ... his pride
was greater than his love for me, I told him when we parted ... and he
wouldn't hear of marriage until he had made himself independent, though
I had enough for both of us. He wanted me to wait a year or two until
he had got his business started properly, but his pride angered me and
I wouldn't.

"So we quarrelled and I went abroad with Mrs. Rushwood. Francis never
wrote: all I heard about him was an occasional scrap in your letters.
Mrs. Rushwood was crazy about titles, and she ran me round from court to
court, always looking for what she called a suitable _pari_ for me. At
Vienna we met Rachwitz ... he was very good looking and very well
mannered and seemed to be really fond of me.

"Well, I gave Francis another chance. I wrote him a friendly letter and
told him about Rachwitz wanting to marry me and asked his advice. He
wrote me back a beastly letter, a wicked letter, Des. 'Any girl who is
fool enough to sell herself for a title,' he said, 'richly deserves a
German husband.' What do you think of that?"

"Poor old Francis," I said. "He was terribly fond of you, Monica!"

"Well, his letter did it. I married Rachwitz ... and have been miserable
ever since. I'm not going to bore you with a long story about my
matrimonial troubles. No! I'm not going to cry either! I'm not crying!
Karl is not a bad man, as German men go, and he's a gentleman, but his
love affairs and