“Are you talking of King Solomon?”

“No, Miss Plumer, only of Alcibiades.  And when the Princess of Sheba came near the villa the Prince of Este entreated her to visit him, promising that the sister should be there.  It was a pretty cage, I think; the sister was a lovely bird.  And the Princess came.”

He stops and drinks more wine.

“Very well!  And then?”

“Why, then, she had a very pleasant visit,” he says, gayly.

“Mr. Moultrie, is that the whole of the story?”

“No, indeed, Miss Plumer; but that is as far as we have got.”

“I want to hear the rest.”

“Don’t be in such a hurry; you won’t like the rest so well.”

“Yes; but that is my risk.”

“It is your risk,” says Sligo Moultrie, looking at her; “will you take it?”

“Of course I will,” is the clear-eyed answer.

“Very well.  The Princess came; but she did not go away.”

“How curious!  Did she die of a peach-stone at the banquet?”

“Not at all.  She became Princess of Este instead of Sheba.”

“Oh-h-h,” says Grace Plumer, in a long-drawn exclamation.  “And then?”

“Why, Miss Grace, how insatiable you are!—­then I came away.”

“You did?  I wouldn’t have come away.”

“No, Miss Grace, you didn’t.”

“How—­I didn’t?  What does that mean, Mr. Moultrie?”

“I mean the Princess remained.”

“So you said.  Is that all?”

“No.”

“Well.”

“Oh! the rest is nothing.  I mean nothing new.”

“Let me hear the old story, then, Mr. Moultrie.”

“The rest is merely that the Princess found that the fiery eyes burned her and the eloquent tongue stung her, and truly that is the whole.  Isn’t it a pretty story?  The moral is that cages are sometimes traps.”

Sligo Moultrie becomes suddenly extremely attentive to Miss Magot.  Grace Plumer ponders many things, and among others wonders how, when, where, Sligo Moultrie learned to talk in parables.  She does not ask herself why he does so.  She is a woman, and she knows why.

CHAPTER L.

WINE AND TRUTH.

The conversation takes a fresh turn.  Corlaer Van Boozenberg is talking of the great heiress, Miss Wayne.  He has drunk wine enough to be bold, and calls out aloud from his end of the table,

“Mr. Abel Newt!”

That gentleman turns his head toward his guest.

“We are wondering down here how it is that Miss Wayne went away from New York unengaged.”

“I am not her confidant,” Abel answers; and gallantly adds, “I am sure, like every other man, I should be glad to be so.”

“But you had the advantage of every body else.”

“How so?” asks Abel, conscious that Grace Plumer is watching him closely.

“Why, you were at school in Delafield until you were no chicken.”