e the
prince and Louise always been such great friends?"

Sophy looked steadfastly at her ice.

"I suppose because the prince is a very clever and cultivated person,"
she said. "He has been of great assistance to Louise several times. It
was he who financed Miles Faraday when he put on this play of
Graillot's. Graillot hasn't a penny, you know, and poor Miles was almost
broke after three failures."

"That was just an investment," John remarked irritably. "He will get his
money back again."

"Of course," Sophy agreed. "I think the prince generally manages to get
value for what he does in life."

"You don't think Louise ever thought of caring for him, do you?" John
persisted.

Sophy paused until she had lit a cigarette. The expression in her face,
when she looked up at John, irritated him vaguely. It was as if she were
talking to a child.

"I think," she said, "you had better ask Louise that question yourself,
don't you?"

* * * * *

He asked it an hour or so later, when at last the party of guests had
taken their leave, and, somewhat to the well-bred surprise of the one or
two friends who lingered, Louise had beckoned to John to take her out to
her car. Her hand had sought his at once, her head rested a little
wearily but very contentedly upon his shoulder.

"Louise dear," he began, "I asked Sophy a question to-night which I
ought to have asked you. Quite properly, she told me so."

"Nice little soul, Sophy!" Louise murmured. "What was it, John?"

"Once or twice I have wondered," he went on, "whether you have ever
cared in any sort of way, or come near to caring, for the Prince of
Seyre?"

For a moment she made no movement. Then she turned her head and looked
at him. The sleepy content had gone from her eyes.

"Why do you ask?"

"Isn't it quite a natural question from a jealous man who believes that
every one who sees you must be in love with you? You have seen a great
deal of the prince, haven't you, in the last few years? He understands
your art. There are many things that you and he have in common."

Louise was looking out of the window at the thin stream of people still
passing along Piccadilly. She seemed suddenly to have become only the
shadow of her former brilliant self.

"I think that once--perhaps twice," she confessed, "I came very near to
caring for him."

"And now?"

"And now," she repeated, suddenly gripping John's hands, "I tell you
that I am very m