“One travels through life,” he answered, “by devious paths, and a little wandering in the flower-gardens by the way is the lot of every one.  But when the journey is over, one’s taste for wandering has gone—­well, Ulysses finished his days at the hearth of Penelope.”

She rose and walked away.  Mr. Sabin sat still and watched her as though listening to the soft sweep of her gown upon the carpet.

“Hateful woman!” Lucille exclaimed lightly.  “To make love, and such love, to one’s lawful husband before one’s face is a little crude, don’t you think?”

He shook his head.

“Too obvious,” he answered.  “She is playing the Prince’s game.  Dear me, how interesting this will be soon.”

She nodded.  A faint smile of bitterness had stolen into her tone.

“Already,” she said, “you are beginning to scent the delight of the atmosphere.  You are stiffening for the fight.  Soon—­”

“Ah, no!  Don’t say it,” he whispered, taking her hand.  “I shall never forget.  If the fight seems good to me it is because you are the prize, and after all, you know, to fight for one’s womenkind is amongst the primeval instincts.”

Lady Carey, who had been pacing the room restlessly, touching an ornament here, looking at a picture there, came back to them and stood before Mr. Sabin.  She had caught his last words.

“Primeval instincts!” she exclaimed mockingly.  “What do you know about them, you of all men, a bundle of nerves and brains, with a motor for a heart, and an automatic brake upon your passions?  Upon my word, I believe that I have solved the mystery of your perennial youth.  You have found a way of substituting machinery for the human organ, and you are wound up to go for ever.”

“You have found me out,” he admitted.  “Professor Penningram of Chicago will supply you too with an outfit.  Mention my name if you like.  It is a wonderful country America.”

The Prince came over to them, fair and bland with no trace upon his smooth features or in his half-jesting tone of any evil things.

“Souspennier,” he said, holding out his hand, “welcome back once more to your old place.  I am happy to say that there appears to be no reason why your claim should not be fully admitted.”

Mr. Sabin rose to his feet.

“I presume,” he said, “that no very active demands are likely to be made upon my services.  In this country more than any other I fear that the possibilities of my aid are scanty.”

The Prince smiled.

“It is a fact,” he said, “which we all appreciate.  Upon you at present we make no claim.”

There was a moment’s intense silence.  A steely light glittered in Mr. Sabin’s eyes.  He and the Prince alone remained standing.  The Duchess of Dorset watched them through her lorgnettes; Lady Carey watched too with an intense eagerness, her eyes alight with mingled cruelty and excitement.  Lucille’s eyes were so bright that one might readily believe the tears to be glistening beneath.