He began to discuss with Logan all conceivable reasons why the Prince’s director had rather discouraged his idea of closing the gambling-rooms for ever.

‘The Father, Father Riccoboni, is a Jesuit, Mr. Logan,’ said the Earl gravely.  ’I would not be uncharitable, I hope I am not prejudiced, but members of that community, I fear, often prefer what they think the interests of their Church to those of our common Christianity.  A portion of the great wealth of the Scalastros was annually devoted to masses for the souls of the players—­about fifteen per cent.  I believe—­who yearly shoot themselves in the gardens of the establishment.’

‘No more suicides, no more subscriptions, I suppose,’ said Logan; ’but the practice proved that the reigning Princes of Scalastro had feeling hearts.’

While the Earl developed this theme, Miss Willoughby, accompanied by Miss Blossom, had joined Merton in the outer room.  Miss Blossom, being clad in white, with her blue eyes and apple-blossom complexion, looked like the month of May.  But Merton could not but be struck by Miss Willoughby.  She was tall and dark, with large grey eyes, a Greek profile, and a brow which could, on occasion, be thunderous and lowering, so that Miss Willoughby seemed to all a remarkably fine young woman; while the educated spectator was involuntarily reminded of the beautiful sister of the beautiful Helen, the celebrated Clytemnestra.  The young lady was clad in very dark blue, with orange points, so to speak, and compared with her transcendent beauty, Miss Blossom, as Logan afterwards remarked, seemed a

   ‘Wee modest crimson-tippit beastie,’

he intending to quote the poet Burns.

After salutations, Merton remarked to Miss Blossom that her well-known discretion might prompt her to take a seat near the window while he discussed private business with Miss Willoughby.  The good-humoured girl retired to contemplate life from the casement, while Merton rapidly laid the nature of Lord Embleton’s affairs before the other lady.

’You go down to Rookchester as a kinswoman and a guest, you understand, and to do the business of the manuscripts.’

‘Oh, I shall rather like that than otherwise,’ said Miss Willoughby, smiling.

’Then, as to the regular business of the Society, there is a Prince who seems to be thought unworthy of the daughter of the house; and the son of the house needs disentangling from an American heiress of great charm and wealth.’

‘The tasks might satisfy any ambition,’ said Miss Willoughby.  ’Is the idea that the Prince and the Viscount should both neglect their former flames?’

‘And burn incense at the altar of Venus Verticordia,’ said Merton, with a bow.

‘It is a large order,’ replied Miss Willoughby, in the simple phrase of a commercial age:  but as Merton looked at her, and remembered the vindictive feeling with which she now regarded his sex, he thought that she, if anyone, was capable of executing the commission.  He was not, of course, as yet aware of the moral resolution lately arrived at by the young potentate of Scalastro.