On the morning following the conclave in Belgrave Square, the Right Honourable Mervin Brown received two extremely distinguished visitors in Downing Street. It was doubtful whether the Prime Minister was altogether at his best. There was a certain amount of irritability rankling beneath his customary air of bonhommie. He motioned his callers to take chairs, however, and listened attentively to the few words of introduction which his secretary thought necessary.
"This is General Dumesnil, sir, of the French Staff, and Monsieur Pouilly of the French Cabinet. They have called according to appointment, on Government business."
"Very glad to see you, gentlemen," was the Prime Minister's brisk welcome. "Sorry I can't talk French to you. Politics, these last ten years, haven't left us much time for the outside graces."
Monsieur Pouilly at once took the floor. He was a thin, dark man with a beautifully trimmed black beard, flashing black eyes, and thoughtful, delicate features. He was attired in the frock coat and dark trousers of diplomatic usage, and he appeared to somewhat resent the brown tweed suit and soft collar of the man who was receiving him.
"Mr. Mervin Brown," he began, "you will kindly look upon our visit as official. We are envoys from Monsieur le Président and the French Government. General Dumesnil has accompanied me, in case our conversation should turn upon military matters here or at the War Office."
The General saluted. The Prime Minister bowed a little awkwardly.
"So far as I am concerned," the latter declared, "I will be perfectly frank with you from the start. I know nothing whatever about military affairs. My job is to govern this country, to make the most of its resources, and to bring prosperity to its citizens from the English Channel to the North Sea. We don't need soldiers and never shall, that I can see. I am firmly convinced that the days of wars are over. The government of every country in the world is getting into the hands of the democracy, and the democracy don't want war and never did. If any of the more quarrelsome folk on the continent get scrapping, well, my conception of my duty is to keep out of it."
Monsieur Pouilly restrained himself. To judge from his appearance, however, it was not altogether an easy matter.
"You belong, sir," he said, "to a type of statesman whose rise to power in this country some of us have watched with a certain amount of concern, for although it is not my mission here to-day to talk politics, I am yet bound to remind you that you do not stand alone. The very League of Nations upon which you rely imposes certain obligations upon you, some actual, some understood. It is to discuss the situation arising from your neglect to make the provisions called for in that agreement that I am here to-day."
Mr. Mervin Brown glanced at some figures which his secretary had laid before him.
"You complain, I presume, of the reduction of our standing army?" he observed.
"We complain of that," Monsieur Pouilly replied, "and we complain also of the gradually decreasing interest shown by your Government in matters of æronautics, artillery, and naval construction. We learnt our lesson in 1914. If trouble should come again, our country would once more be the sufferer. You would no doubt do everything that was expected of you, in time. Before you were ready, however, France would be ruined. You entered into certain obligations under the League of Nations. My Government begs to call your attention to the fact that you are not fulfilling them."
"It is my intention within the course of the next few months," Mervin Brown declared, "to lay before the League of Nations a scheme for total disarmament."
Monsieur Pouilly was staggered. A little exclamation escaped the General.
"What about those nations," the latter enquired, "who were left outside the League? What of Russia, for instance?"
"Russia is a great and peaceful republic," Mervin Brown replied. "All her efforts are devoted towards industrial development. No nation would have less to gain by a return to militarism."
"Pardon, monsieur, but how do you know anything about Russia?" Monsieur Pouilly asked. "You have not a single secret service agent there, and your ambassadors are ambassadors of commerce."
"I know what every one else knows," Mervin Brown declared. "Our commercial travellers are our secret service agents. They travel where they please in Russia."
"And Germany?" the General queried.
"I defy you to say that there is the slightest indication of any militarism in Germany," the Prime Minister insisted. "I was there myself only a few months ago. The country is quiet and moving on now to a new prosperity. I am absolutely and entirely convinced that the world has nothing to fear from either Russia or Germany."
"Have you any theory, sir," General Dumesnil enquired, "as to why Russia refused to join the League of Nations?"
"None whatever," was the genial acknowledgment. "Russia was left out at the start through jealous statesmanship, and afterwards she preferred her independence. I have every sympathy with her attitude."
"One more question," the soldier begged. "Are you aware, sir, that since Japan left the League of Nations on the excuse of her isolation, she has been building æroplanes and battleships on a new theory, instigated, if you please, by China?"
"And look at her last balance sheet as a result of it," was the prompt retort. "If a nation chooses to make herself a bankrupt by building war toys, no one in the world can help her. Legislation of that sort is foolish and simply an incitement to revolution. Look at the difference in our country. Our income tax is practically abolished, our industrial troubles are over. Our credit never stood so high, the wealth of the country was never so great. We are satisfied. A peaceful nation makes for peace. The rattling of the sabre incites military disturbance. Do not ask us, gentlemen, to train armies or build ships."
"We ask you only to keep your covenant," Monsieur Pouilly pronounced stiffly.
"Who does keep it?" the Prime Minister demanded. "The world is governed now by common sense and humanity. I look upon a war of aggression on the part of any country as a sheer impossibility."
"What about a war of revenge?" the General enquired quietly.
"You can search Germany from end to end," Mervin Brown declared, "and find no trace of any spirit of the sort. I am sorry if I am a disappointment to you, gentlemen, but the present Government views your attitude without sympathy. General Richardson is expecting a visit from you this morning at the War Office, and he will give you any information you desire. An appointment has also been made for you this afternoon at the Admiralty. You are doing me the honour of dining with me here to-morrow night to meet certain members of my Cabinet, and we will, if you choose, discuss the matter further then. I have thought it best to place my views clearly before you, however, at the outset of your visit here."
The Frenchmen rose a few minutes later and took their leave, ceremoniously but with obvious discontent. The Prime Minister leaned back in his chair and awaited his secretary's return with a well-satisfied smile. In a few minutes the latter presented himself.
"Well, Franklin," the great man said, "I've let them hear the truth for once. Plain speaking, eh?"
The young man bowed.
"They certainly know your views, sir."
The Minister glanced at his subordinate sharply.
"What's the matter with you this morning, Franklin?" he demanded.
"There is nothing the matter with me, thank you, sir," was the quiet reply.
"You're not going to tell me that you disapprove of my attitude?"
"By no means, sir," the young man assured his Chief hastily,—"not altogether, that is to say. At the same time, one wonders how far those two men represent the feeling of France."
His Chief shrugged his shoulders.
"The military spirit is hard to kill," he said. "It is in the blood of most Frenchmen. They are not big enough to understand that the world is moving on to greater things. What did they say to you before they left?"
"Nothing much, sir. The General just asked me whether I thought you would soon be content to leave London unpoliced."
"What rubbish! Any one else for me to see this morning?"
"You promised to give Lord Dorminster ten minutes," the young man reminded him. "He is in the anteroom now."
The Prime Minister frowned.
"Dorminster," he repeated. "He is a nephew of the man who was always worrying the Government to reëstablish the secret service. I remember he came to see me the other day, declared that his uncle had been murdered, and a secret dispatch from Germany stolen. I wonder he didn't wind up with a report that the Chinese were on their way to seize Ireland!"
"It is the same man, sir."
"Well, I suppose I'd better see him and get it over," his Chief declared irritably. "If only one could make these people realize how far behind the times they are!"
Nigel was shown in, a few minutes later. Mr. Mervin Brown was gracious but terse.
"I haven't had the opportunity of congratulating you upon becoming one of our hereditary legislators, Lord Dorminster, since you took your seat in the House of Lords," he said. "Pray let me do so now. I hope that we may count upon your support."
"My support, sir," Nigel replied, "will be given to any Party which will take the urgent necessary steps to protect this country against a great danger."
"God bless my soul!" the Prime Minister exclaimed. "Another of you!"
"I can only guess who my predecessors were," Nigel continued, smiling, "but I will frankly confess that the object of my visit is to beg you to reëstablish our secret service in Germany, Russia and China."
"Nothing," the other declared, "would induce me to do anything of the sort."
"Are you aware," Nigel enquired, "that there is a considerable foreign secret service at work in this country at the present moment?"
"I am not aware of it, and I don't believe it," was the blunt retort.
"I have absolute proof," Nigel insisted. "Not only that, but two ex-secret service men whom my uncle sent out to Germany and Russia on his own account were murdered there as soon as they began to get on the track of certain things which had been kept secret. A report from one of these men got through and was stolen from my uncle's library in Belgrave Square on the day he was murdered. You will remember that I placed all these facts before you on the occasion of a previous visit."
Mervin Brown nodded.
"Anything else?" he asked patiently.
"You know that a special envoy from China is on his way here at the present moment to meet Immelan?"
"Oscar Immelan, the German Commissioner?"
"The same," Nigel assented.
"A most delightful fellow," the Prime Minister declared warmly, "and a great friend to this country."
"I must take the liberty of disagreeing with you," Nigel rejoined, "because I know very well that he is our bitter enemy. Prince Shan, who is on his way from China to meet him, is the envoy of the one country outside Europe whom we might fear. We sit still and do nothing. We have no means of knowing what may be plotted against us here in London. At least a polite request might be sent to Prince Shan to ask him to pay you a visit and disclose the nature of his conference with Immelan."
"If he cares to come, we shall be glad to see him," Mervin Brown replied, "but I for one shall not go out of my way to talk politics."
"Do you know what politics are, sir?" Nigel asked, in a sudden fury.
The Prime Minister's eyes flashed for a moment. He controlled himself, however, and rang the bell.
"I have an idea that I do," he answered. "A few millions of my fellow countrymen believe the same thing, or I should not be here. I think that you know what my principles are, Lord Dorminster. I am here to govern this country for the benefit of the people. We don't want to govern any one else's country, we don't want to meddle in any one else's affairs. Least of all do we want to revert to the times when your uncle was a young man, and every country in Europe was sitting with drawn sword, trusting nobody, fearing everybody, living in a state of nerves, with the roll of the drum always in their ears. The best preventative of war, in my opinion, is not to believe in it. Good morning, Lord Dorminster."
It was a dismissal against which there was no appeal. Nigel followed the secretary from the room.
"You found the Chief a little bit ratty this morning, I expect, Lord Dorminster," the latter remarked. "We've had the French Mission here."
"Mr. Mervin Brown has at least the virtue of knowing his own mind," Nigel replied dryly.
The automobile turned in through the great entrance gates of the South London Aeronautic Terminus and commenced a slow ascent along the broad asphalted road to what, a few years ago, had been esteemed a new wonder of the world. Maggie rose to her feet with a little exclamation of wonder.
"Do you know I have never been here at night before?" she exclaimed. "Isn't it wonderful!"
"Marvellous!" Nigel replied. "It's the largest aeronautic station in the world—bigger, they say, than all our railway termini put together. Look at the flares, Maggie! No wonder the sky from the housetop at Belgrave Square seems always to be on fire at night!"
They were approaching now the first of the huge sheds which were arranged in circular fashion around an immense stretch of perfectly level asphalted ground. Every shed was as big as an ordinary railway station, its arched opening framed with electric illuminations. Inside could be seen the crowds of people waiting on the platforms; in many of them, the engine of a great airship was already throbbing, waiting to start. In the background was a huge wireless installation, and around, at regular intervals, enormous pillars, on the top of which flares of different-coloured fire were burning. The automobile came to a standstill before a large electrically illuminated time chart. Nigel alighted for a moment and spoke to one of the inspectors.
"Which station for theBlack Dragon, private ship from China?" he enquired.
The man glanced at the chart.
"Number seven, on the other side," he replied. "You can drive around."
"How is she for time?"
"She crossed the North Sea punctually," he replied. "We should see her violet lights in ten minutes. Mind the traffic as you pass number three. The North ship from Norway is just in."
Nigel addressed a word of caution to the chauffeur, and they drove on. From the first shed they passed a stream of vehicles was pouring out,—porters with luggage, jostling throngs of newly arrived passengers on their way to the Electric Underground. They drove into number seven shed, left the car, and walked to the end of the long platform. The great arc of glass-covered roof above them was brilliantly illuminated, throwing a queer downward light upon the long line of waiting porters, the refreshment rooms, the kiosks and newspaper stalls. In the far end, a huge airship, bound for the East, was already filling up. Maggie and her companion stood for a few minutes gazing into the huge void of space.
"Tell me about Naida," the former begged, a little abruptly.
"Naida is a wonderful woman," Nigel declared enthusiastically. "We lunched at Ciro's. She wore a black and white muslin gown which arrived this morning from Paris. Afterwards we went down to Ranelagh and sat under the trees."
"Throwing yourself thoroughly into your little job, aren't you!" Maggie sniffed.
"You'll have a chance to catch me up before long," he replied. "Naida has promised that she will arrange a meeting with the Prince."
"I wonder what Oscar Immelan will have to say about it," Maggie reflected.
"To tell you the truth," Nigel said hopefully, "I believe that Immelan is losing ground. His whole scheme is too selfish. Of course, Naida won't discuss these things with me in plain words, but she gives me a hint now and then. Amongst her gifts, she has a marvellous sense of justice and a hatred of any form of bribery. That is where I feel convinced that she and Immelan will never come together. Immelan could never see more than the selfish side, even of a world upheaval. Naida searches everywhere for motive. She has the altruistic instinct. I wonder no longer at Matinsky. She is a born ruler herself."
"I'm glad you are getting along with her," Maggie remarked. "Look!" she broke off, catching at his arm. "The violet lights!"
High up in the sky outside, two violet specks of light suddenly rose and fell like airballs. A crowd of mechanics appeared through subterranean doors and stood about in the vast arena. Very soon the airship came into sight, her cars brilliantly illuminated. She circled slowly round and came noiselessly to the ground, and with the mechanics running by her side, and her engines now scarcely audible, came slowly into the shed and to a standstill by the side of the platform. Maggie and her companion stood well in the background.
"There he is," the latter whispered.
Immelan, suddenly appeared as though from the bowels of the earth, was shaking hands warmly with a tall, slender man who was one of the first to descend from the airship. They talked rapidly together for a few minutes. Then they disappeared, walking down towards the luggage-clearing station. Maggie watched the retreating figures earnestly.
"He doesn't look in the least Chinese," she declared.
"I told you he didn't," Nigel replied. "He was considered the best-looking man of his year up at Oxford."
Maggie was unusually silent on their way back.
"It was perhaps scarcely worth our while, this little expedition of ours," Maggie said thoughtfully.
"You're not sorry that we came?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I think not," she replied.
"Why only 'think'?"
She roused herself with an effort.
"I don't know, Nigel," she confessed. "I can't imagine what is wrong with me. I feel shivery—nervous—as though something were going to happen."
He looked at her curiously. This was a Maggie whom he scarcely recognised.
"Presentiments?" he asked.
"Absurd, isn't it!" she replied, with a weak smile. "I'll get over it directly. I don't think I am going to like Prince Shan, Nigel."
"Well, you haven't been long making up your mind," he observed. "I shouldn't have thought you had been able even to see his face."
"I had a queer, lightning-like glimpse of it," she reflected. "To me it seemed as though it were carved out of granite, and as though all that was human about him were the mouth and the eyes. I wish he hadn't been looking."
"Are you flattering yourself that he will recognise you?" Nigel asked.
"I know that he will," she answered simply.
In a corner of the white-and-gold restaurant at the Ritz on the following evening, Prince Shan and Immelan dined tête-à-tête, Immelan in the best of spirits, talking of the pleasant trifles of the world, drinking champagne and pointing out notabilities; Prince Shan, his features and expression unchanging, and his face as white as the perfectly fitting shirt he wore. His clothes were fashionable and distinctive, his black pearls unobtrusive but wonderful, his smoothly brushed dark hair, his immaculate finger nails, his skilfully tied tie all indicative of his close touch with western civilization. There was nothing, in fact, except his sphinx-like expression, the slightly unusual shape of his brilliant eyes, and his queer air of personal detachment, to denote the Oriental. He drank water, he ate sparingly, he preserved an almost unbroken silence, yet he had the air of one giving courteous attention to everything which his companion said and finding interest in it. Only once he asked a question.
"You are well acquainted here, my host," he said. "You know the trio at the table just behind the entrance—the attractive young lady with her chaperon, and a gentleman who I rather fancy must be an old college acquaintance whose name I have forgotten. Tell me some more about them in their private capacity, and not as saviours of their country."
Immelan frowned slightly as he glanced across the room.
"There is not much to tell," he answered, without enthusiasm. "The young lady is, as you know, Lady Maggie Trent. The older lady, with the white hair, is, I believe, her aunt. The name of their escort is Lord Dorminster. You would probably know him by the name of Kingley—he has only just succeeded to the title."
Prince Shan was looking straight across the room, his eyes travelling over the heads of the many brilliant little groups of diners to rest apparently upon an empty space in the white-and-gold walls. He had been a great traveller, but always his first evening, when he came once more into touch with a civilisation more meretricious but more poignant than his own, resulted in this disturbing cloud of sensations. His companion's voice sounded emptily in his ears.
"They say that the young lady is engaged to Lord Dorminster. That is only gossip, however."
For the second time Prince Shan looked directly at the little group. His eyes rested upon Maggie, simply dressed but wonderfullysoignée, very alluring, laughing up into the face of her escort. Their eyes did not actually meet, but each was conscious of the other's regard. Once more he felt the disturbance of the West.
"If we should chance to come together naturally," he said, "it would gratify me to make the acquaintance of Lady Maggie Trent."
The introduction which Prince Shan had requested came about very naturally. The lounge of the hotel was more than usually crowded that evening, and the table towards which an attentivemaître d'hôtelconducted Immelan and his companion was next to the one reserved by Nigel. The transference of a chair opened up conversation. Immelan was bland and ingenuous as usual, introducing every one, glad, apparently, to make one common party. Prince Shan remained by Maggie's side after the introduction had been effected. A chair which Immelan schemed to offer him elsewhere he calmly refused.
"This is my first evening in London, Lady Maggie," he said. "I am fortunate."
"Why?" she asked.
He looked at her meditatively. Then he accepted her unspoken invitation and seated himself on the lounge by her side.
"We who come from the self-contained countries of the world," he explained, "and China is one of them, come always with the desire and longing for new experiences, new sensations. My own appetite for these is insatiable."
"And am I a new sensation?" Maggie asked, glancing up at him innocently enough, but with a faint gleam of mockery in her eyes.
"You are," he answered placidly. "You reveal—or rather you suggest—the things of which in my country we know nothing."
"But I thought you were all so hyper-civilised over there," Maggie observed. "Please tell me at once what it is that I possess which your womenkind do not."
"If I answered all that your question implies," he said, "I should make use of speech too direct for the conventions of the world in which you live. I would simply remind you that whereas we men in China may claim, I think, to have reached the same standard of culture and civilisation as Europeans, we have left our womenkind far behind in that respect. The Chinese woman, even the noble lady, does not care for serious affairs. The God of the Mountains, as they call him, made her a flower to pluck, a beautiful plaything for her chosen mate. She remains primitive. That is why, in time, man wearies of her, why the person of imagination looks sometimes westward, finds a new joy and a strange new fascination in a wholly different type of femininity."
"But you have many European women now living in China," Maggie reminded him,—"American women, too, and they are so much admired everywhere."
"The Chinese, especially we of the nobility," Prince Shan replied, "are born with racial prejudices. An individual may forgive an affront, a nation never. The days of retaliation by force of arms may indeed have passed, but the gentleman of China, even of these days, is not likely to take to his heart the woman of America."
"Dear me," Maggie murmured, "isn't it rather out of date to persevere in these ancient feuds?"
"Feeling of all sorts is out of date," he admitted patiently, "yet there are some things which endure. I should be honoured by your friendship, Lady Maggie."
"This is very sudden," she laughed. "I am very flattered—but what does it mean?"
"Permission to call upon you—and your aunt," he added, glancing around the little circle.
"We shall be delighted," Maggie replied, "but you won't like my aunt. She is a little deaf, and she has no sense of humour. She has come to live with us because Lord Dorminster and I are not really related, although we call ourselves cousins, and I should hate to leave Belgrave Square. You shall take me out to tea to-morrow afternoon instead, if you like."
A smouldering fire burned for a moment in his eyes.
"That will make me very happy," he said. "I shall attend you at four o'clock."
Thenceforward, conversation became general. Prince Shan, with the air of one who has achieved his immediate object, left his place by Maggie's side and talked with grave courtesy to her aunt. Presently the little party broke up, bound, it seemed, for the same theatre. Nigel had become a little serious.
"Well, you've made a good start, Maggie," he remarked, leaning forward in his place in the limousine.
"Have I?" Maggie answered thoughtfully. "I wonder!"
"I wish we could get at him in some different fashion," her companion observed uneasily.
"My dear man, I'm hardened to these enterprises," Maggie assured him. "I even let the President of the German Republic hold my hand once when his wife wasn't looking. Nothing came of it," she added, with a little sigh. "These Germans are terribly sentimental when it doesn't cost them anything. They've no idea of a fair exchange."
"By a 'fair exchange' you mean," her aunt suggested, a little censoriously, "that you expected him to barter his country's secrets for a touch of your fingers?"
"Or my lips, perhaps," Maggie added, with a little grimace. "Please don't look so serious, Aunt. I'm not really in love with Prince Shan, you know, and to-night I rather feel like marrying Nigel, if I can get him back again. I like his waistcoat buttons, and the way he has tied his tie."
"Too late, my dear," Nigel warned her. "I give you formal notice. I have transferred my affections."
"That decides me," Maggie declared firmly. "I shall collect you back again. I hate to lose an admirer."
"The nonsense you young people talk!" Mrs. Bollington Smith observed, as they reached the theatre.
Chalmers joined them soon after they had reached their box. He sank into the empty place by Maggie's side which Nigel had just vacated and leaned forward confidentially.
"So you've started the campaign," he whispered.
"How do you know?" she enquired.
"I was at the Ritz to-night," he told her, "at the far end of the room with my Chief and two other men. We were behind you in the lounge afterwards."
"I was so engrossed," Maggie murmured.
Chalmers paused for a moment to watch the performance. When he spoke again, his voice, was, for him, unusually serious.
"Young lady," he said, "I told you on our first meeting my idea of diplomacy. Truth! No beating about the bush—just the plain, unvarnished truth! I have conceived an affection for you."
"Goodness gracious!" Maggie exclaimed softly. "Are you going to propose?"
"Nothing," he assured her, "is farther from my thoughts. Lest I should be misunderstood, let me substitute the term 'affectionate interest' for 'affection.' I have felt uneasy ever since I saw Prince Shan watching you across the restaurant to-night."
"Did he really watch me?" Maggie asked complacently.
"He not only watched you," Chalmers assured her, "but he thought about you—and very little else."
"Congratulate me, then," she replied. "I am on the way to success."
Chalmers frowned.
"I'm not quite so sure," he said. "You'll think I'm an illogical sort of person, but I've changed my mind about your rôle in this little affair."
"Why?"
"Because I am afraid of Prince Shan," he answered deliberately.
She looked at him from behind her fan. Her eyes sparkled with interest. If there were any other feeling underneath, she showed no trace of it.
"What a queer word for you to use!"
He nodded.
"I know it. I would back you, Lady Maggie, to hold your own against any male creature breathing, of your own order and your own race, but Prince Shan plays the game differently. He possesses every gift which women and men both admire, but he hasn't our standards. Life for him means power. A wish for him entails its fulfilment."
"You are afraid," Maggie suggested, still with the laughter in her eyes, "that he will trifle with my affections?"
"Something like that," he admitted bluntly. "Prince Shan will be here for a week—perhaps a fortnight. When he goes, he goes a very long distance away."
"I may decide to marry him," Maggie said. "One gets rather tired here of the regular St. George's, Hanover Square, business, and all that comes afterwards."
"Dear Lady Maggie," Chalmers replied, "that is the trouble. Prince Shan would never marry you."
"Why not?" she asked simply.
"First of all," Chalmers went on, after a moment's hesitation, "because Prince Shan, broad-minded though he seems to be and is on all the great questions of the world, still preserves something of what we should call the superstition of his country and order. I believe, in his own mind, he looks upon himself as being one of the few elect of the earth. He travels, he is gracious everywhere, but though his manner is the perfection of form, in his heart he is still aloof. He rides through the clouds from Asia, and he leaves always something of himself over there on the other side. Let me tell you this, Lady Maggie. I have never forgotten it. He was at Harvard in my year, and so far as he unbent to any one, he sometimes unbent to me. I asked him once whether he were ever going to marry. He shook his head and sighed. 'I can never marry,' he replied. 'Why not?' I asked him. 'Because there are no women of the Shan line alive,' he answered. Later, he took pity on my bewilderment. He let me understand. For two thousand years, no Shan has married, save one of his own line. To ally himself with a princess of the royal house of England would be a mésalliance which would disturb his ancestors in their graves. Of course, this sounds to us very ridiculous, but to him it isn't. It is part of the religion of his life."
"You are not very encouraging, are you?" Maggie remarked. "Perhaps he has changed since those days."
Her companion shook his head.
"I should say not," he replied, "the Prince is not of the order of those who change."
"Is it matrimony alone," she asked, "which he denies himself?"
Chalmers glanced towards Mrs. Bollington Smith, whose eyes were closed. Then he nodded towards the stage.
"You see the woman who has just come upon the stage?"
Maggie glanced downwards. A very wonderful little figure in white satin, lithe and sinuous as a cat, Chinese in the subtlety of her looks, European in her almost sinister over-civilisation, stood smiling blandly at the applauding audience.
"La Belle Nita," Maggie murmured. "I thought she was in Paris. Well, what of her?"
"She is reputed to be a protégée of Prince Shan. You see how she looks up at his box."
Maggie was conscious of a queer and almost incomprehensible stab at the heart. She answered without hesitation or change of expression, however.
"The Prince must be kind to a fellow countrywoman," she declared indulgently. "You are talking terrible scandal."
La Belle Nita danced wonderfully, sang like a linnet, danced again and disappeared, notwithstanding the almost wild calls for an encore. With the end of her turn came a selection from the orchestra and a general emptying of the boxes. Presently Chalmers went in search of Nigel. A few moments later there was a knock at the door. Maggie gripped the sides of her chair tightly. She was moved almost to fury by the turmoil in which she found herself. Her invitation to enter was almost inaudible.
"I am deserted," Prince Shan explained, as he made his bow and took the chair to which Maggie pointed. "My friend Immelan has left me to visit acquaintances, and I chance to be unattended this evening. I trust that I do not intrude."
"You are very welcome here," Maggie replied. "Will you listen to the orchestra, or talk to me?"
"I will talk, if I may," he answered. "Lord Dorminster is not with you?"
"Nigel went to look up a friend whom he wants to bring to supper. He is one of those people who seem to discover friends and acquaintances in every quarter of the globe."
"And to that fortunate chance," her visitor continued, dropping his voice a little, "I owe the happiness of finding you alone."
Maggie glanced towards her aunt, who was leaning back in her seat.
"Aunt seems to be asleep, but she isn't," she declared. "She is really a very efficient chaperon. Talk to me about China, please, and tell me about yourDragonairship. Is it true that you have silver baths, and that Gauteron painted the walls of your dining salon?"
"One is in the air five days on the way over," he answered indifferently. "It is necessary that one's surroundings should be agreeable. Perhaps some day I may have the honour of showing it to you. In the darkness, and when she is docked, there is little to be seen."
She looked at him curiously.
"You knew that I was there, then?"
"Yours was the first face I saw when I descended from the car," he told her. "You stood apart, watching, and I wondered why. I knew, too, that you would be at the Ritz to-night. That is why I came there. As a rule, I do not dine in public."
"How could you possibly know that I was going to be there?" Maggie asked curiously.
"I sent a gentleman of my suite to look through the names of those who had booked tables," he answered. "It was very simple."
"It was only a chance that the table was reserved in my name," she reminded him.
"It was chance which brought us together," he rejoined. "It is chance under another name to which I trust in life."
For the first time in her life, in her relations with the other sex, Maggie felt a queer sensation which was almost fear. She felt herself losing poise, her will governed, her whole self dominated. Unconsciously she drew herself a little away. Her eyes travelled around the crowded house and suddenly rested on the box which her visitor had just vacated. Seated behind the curtains, but leaning slightly forward, her eyes fixed intently upon Prince Shan, was La Belle Nita, a green opera cloak thrown around her dancing costume, a curious, striking little figure in the semi-obscurity.
"You have some one waiting for you in your box," Maggie told him.
He glanced across the auditorium and rose to his feet. She gave him credit for the adroitness of mind which rejected the obvious explanation of her presence there.
"I must go," he said simply, "but I have many things which I desire to say to you. You will not forget to-morrow afternoon?"
"I shall not forget," she answered, in a low tone.
There was a half reluctant admiration in Prince Shan's eyes as he sat back in the dim recesses of his box and scrutinised his visitor. La Belle Nita had learnt all that Paris and London could teach her.
"You are very beautiful, Nita," he said.
"Many men tell me so," she answered.
"Life has gone well with you since we met last?" he asked reflectively.
"The months have passed," she replied.
"You have been faithful?"
"Fidelity is of the soul."
He paused, as though pondering over her answer. A famous French comedian was holding the stage, and the house rocked with laughter.
"You have the same apartment?"
She pressed the clasp of a black velvet bag which rested on the edge of the box, opened it, and passed him a key.
"It is the same."
He held the key in his fingers for a moment, but he had the air of a man to whom the action had no significance.
"You have enough money?" he asked.
"I have saved a million francs," she told him. "I am waiting for my lord to speak of things that matter. The woman in the box over there—who is she?"
"An English spy," he answered calmly.
She lowered her eyes for a moment, as though to conceal the sudden soft flash.
"An English spy," she repeated. "My rival in espionage."
"You have no rival, Nita," he replied, "and she is in the opposite camp."
Her two red lips were distorted into a pout.
"Is it over, my task?" she asked. "I am weary of Paris. I love it over here better. I am weary of French officers, of these solemn officials who come to my room like guilty schoolboys, and who speak of themselves and their importance with bated breath, as though their whisper would rock the world. My master has enough information?"
"More than enough," he assured her. "You have done your work wonderfully."
"Shall I now deal with her?" she continued, with a slight, eager movement of her head towards the opposite box.
He smiled.
"She is harmless, she and her entourage," he replied. "Some stroke of good fortune brought them word of the meeting between myself and Immelan, and beyond that they guessed at its significance. They were at the shed to watch my arrival. Now, with their mouths open, they sit and wait for the information which they hope will drop in. They are very ingenuous, these Anglo-Saxons, but they are not diplomats."
She turned her head and looked across the auditorium. Maggie was talking to a man whom Nigel had just brought in, and who was bending over her in obvious admiration. Nita, with her wealth of cosmetics, her over-red lips, stared curiously at this possible rival, with her clear skin, her beautiful neck and shoulders, her hair dressed close to her head, her air of quiet, almost singular distinction.
"The young lady," she confessed, "wears her clothes well for an English woman. She isbien soignée, but she looks a little difficult."
His eyes followed the direction of hers, and her object was achieved. She read correctly the light that gleamed in them.
"I may come to-night?" she asked quietly.
He shook his head.
"Not again," he replied.
A violinist now held the stage, a Pole newly come to London. La Belle Nita closed her eyes. For a few minutes her sorrow seemed to throb to the minor music to which she was listening.
"For all my work, then," she said presently, "for the suffering and the risk, there is to be nothing?"
"Is it nothing for you to be invited to live in whatsoever manner you choose?" he remonstrated.
"It is little," she replied steadily. "There are a dozen who would do this for me, who pray every day that they may do so. What are all these things beside the love of my master?"
He looked at her a little sadly, yet without any sign of real feeling. To him she represented nothing more than a doll with brains, from whose intelligence he had profited, but of whose beauty he was weary.
"You know what our poet says, Nita," he reminded her. "'Love is like the rustling of the wind in the almond trees before dawn.' We cannot command it. It comes to us or leaves us without reason."
She looked across the auditorium once more and spoke with her head turned away from her companion.
"There is no one in the East," she said, "because those who write me weekly send news of my lord's doings. There is no one in the East, because there they give the body who know nothing of the soul. And so my Prince is safe amongst them. But here—these western women have other gifts. Is that she, master of my life and soul?"
"I met her this evening for the first time," he replied.
She laughed drearily.
"Eyes may meet in the street without speech, a glance may burn its way into the soul. Once I thought that I might love again, because a stranger smiled at me in the Bois, and he had grey eyes, and that look about his mouth which a woman craves for. He passed on, and I forgot. You see, my lord was still there.—So this is the woman."
"Who knows?" he answered.
Immelan came into the box a little abruptly. There was a cloud upon his face which he did his best to conceal. Almost simultaneously, a messenger from behind the scenes arrived for Nita. She rose to her feet and wrapped her green cloak closely around her lissom figure.
"In a quarter of an hour," she said, "I have to appear again. It is to be good-night, then?"
She raised her eyes to his, and for a moment the appeal which knows no nationality shone out of their velvety depths. She stood before him simply, like a slave who pleads. Not a muscle of Prince Shan's face moved.
"It is to be good-night, Nita," he answered calmly.
Her head drooped, and she passed out. She had the air of a flower whose petals have been bruised. Immelan looked after her curiously, almost compassionately.
"It is finished, then, with the little one, Prince?" he enquired.
"It is finished," was the calm reply.
Immelan stroked his short moustache thoughtfully.
"Is it wise?" he ventured. "She has been faithful and assiduous. She knows many things."
Prince Shan's eyes were filled with mild wonder.
"She has had some years of my occasional companionship," he said. "It is surely as much as she could hope for or expect. We are not like you Westerners, Immelan," he went on. "Our women are the creatures of our will. We call them, or we send them away. They know that, and they are prepared."
"It seems a little brutal," Immelan muttered.
"You prefer your method?" his companion asked. "Yet you practise deceit. Your fancy wanders, and you lie about it. You lose your dignity, my friend. No woman is worth a man's lie."
Immelan was leaning back in his chair, gazing steadfastly across the crowded theatre.
"Your principles," he said, "are suited to your own womenkind. La Belle Nita has become westernised. Are you sure that she accepts the situation as she would if she dwelt with you in Pekin?"
"I am her master," Prince Shan declared calmly. "I have made no promises that I have not fulfilled."
"The promise between a man and a woman is an unspoken one," Immelan persisted. "You have not been in Europe for five months. All that time she has awaited you."
"Something else has happened," Prince Shan said deliberately.
"Since your arrival in London?"
"Since my arrival in London, since I stepped out of my ship last night."
Immelan was frankly incredulous.
"You mean Lady Maggie Trent?"
"Certainly! I have always felt that some day or other my thoughts would turn towards one of these strange, western women. That time has come. Lady Maggie possesses those charms which come from the brain, yet which appeal more deeply than any other to the subtle desires of the poet, the man of letters and the philosopher. She is very wonderful, Immelan. I thank you for your introduction."
Immelan ceased to caress his moustache. He leaned back in his chair and gazed at his companion. For many years he and the Prince had been associates, yet at that moment he felt that he had not even begun to understand him.
"But you forget, Prince," he said, "that Lady Maggie and her friends are in the opposite camp. When our agreement is concluded and known to the world, she will look upon you as an enemy."
"As yet," Prince Shan answered calmly, "our agreement is not concluded."
Immelan's face darkened. Nothing but his awe of the man with whom he sat prevented an expression of anger.
"But, Prince," he expostulated, "apart from political considerations, you cannot really imagine that anything would be possible between you and Lady Maggie?"
"Why not?" was the cool reply.
"Lady Maggie is of the English nobility," Immelan pointed out. "Neither she nor her friends would be in the least likely to consider anything in the nature of a morganatic alliance."
"It would not be necessary," Prince Shan declared. "It is in my mind to offer her marriage."
Immelan dropped the cigarette case which he had just drawn from his pocket. He gazed at his companion in blank and unaffected astonishment.
"Marriage?" he muttered. "You are not serious!"
"I am entirely serious," the Prince insisted. "I can understand your amazement, Immelan. When the idea first came into my mind, I tore at it as I would at a weed. But we who have studied in the West have learnt certain great truths which our own philosophers have sometimes missed. All that is best of life and of death our own prophets have taught us. From them we have learnt fortitude and chastity: devotion to our country and singleness of purpose. Over here, though, one has also learnt something. Nobility is of the soul. A Prince of the Shans must seek not for the body but for the spirit of the woman who shall be his mate. If their spirits meet on equal terms, then she may even share the throne of his life."
Immelan was speechless. There was something final and convincing in his companion's measured words. His own protest, when at last he spoke, sounded paltry.
"But supposing it is true that she is already engaged to Lord Dorminster?"
Prince Shan smiled very quietly.
"That," he said, "can easily be disposed of."
"But do you seriously believe that you would be able to induce her to return with you to Pekin?" Immelan persisted.
At that moment it chanced that Maggie turned her head and looked across at the two men. Prince Shan leaned a little forward to meet her gaze. His face was expressionless. The lines of his mouth were calm and restful, yet in his eyes there glowed for a single moment the fire of a man who looks upon the thing he covets.
"I seriously believe it," he answered under his breath.