"You are a dear girl, Sophy!" he said. "Don't go just yet. I have never
felt like it before in my life, but just now I don't want to be left
alone. Send a boy for some clothes, and I will order some tea."

She hesitated.

"My own reputation," she murmured, "is absolutely of no consequence, but
remember that you live here, and--"

"Don't be silly!" he interrupted. "What does that matter? And besides,
according to you and all the rest of you here, these things don't affect
a man's reputation--they are expected of him. See, I have rung the bell
for breakfast. Now I am going to telephone down for a messenger-boy to
go for your clothes."

They breakfasted together, a little later, and she made him smoke. He
stood before the window, looking down upon the river, with his pipe in
his mouth and an unfamiliar look upon his face.

"Do you suppose that Louise knows anything?" he asked at length.

"I should think not," she replied. "It is for you to tell her. I rang up
the prince's house while you were in your bathroom. They say that he has
a broken rib and some bad cuts, sustained in a motor accident last
night, but that he is in no danger. There was nothing about the affair
in the newspapers, and the prince's servants have evidently been
instructed to give this account to inquirers."

A gleam of interest shone in John's face.

"By the bye," he remarked, "the prince is a Frenchman. He will very
likely expect me to fight with him."

"No hope of that, my belligerent friend," Sophy declared, with an
attempt at a smile. "The prince knows that he is in England. He would
not be guilty of such an anachronism. Besides, he is a person of
wonderfully well-balanced mind. When he is himself again, he will
realize that what happened to him is exactly what he asked for."

John took up his hat and gloves. He glanced at the clock--it was a
little past eleven.

"I am ready," he announced. "Let me drive you home first."

His motor was waiting at the door, and he left Sophy at her rooms.
Before she got out, she held his arm for a moment.

"John," she said, "remember that Louise is very high-strung and very
sensitive. Be careful!"

"There is only one thing to do or to say," he answered. "There is only
one way in which I can do it."

He drove the car down Piccadilly like a man in a dream, steering as
carefully as usual through the traffic, and glancing every now and then
with unseeing eyes at the streams of people upon the pavements.