The Prince smiled at her through the gloom—a
white, set smile.
“It is no foolish fancy, Lucille. You
will find that out before long. You have been
cold to me all your life. Yet you would find
me a better friend than enemy.”
“If I am to choose,” she said steadily,
“I shall choose the latter.”
“As you will,” he answered. “In
time you will change your mind.”
The carriage had stopped. The Prince alighted
and held out his hand. Lucille half rose, and
then with her foot upon the step she paused and looked
around.
“Where are we?” she exclaimed. “This
is not Dorset House.”
“No, we are in Grosvenor Square,” the
Prince answered. “I forgot to tell you
that we have a meeting arranged for here this evening.
Permit me.” But Lucille resumed her seat
in the carriage.
“It is your house, is it not?” she asked.
“Yes. My house assuredly.”
“Very well,” Lucille said. “I
will come in when the Duchess of Dorset shows herself
at the window or the front door—or Felix,
or even De Brouillae.”
The Prince still held open the carriage door.
“They will all be here,” he assured her.
“We are a few minutes early.”
“Then I will drive round to Dorset House and
fetch the Duchess. It is only a few yards.”
The Prince hesitated. His cheeks were very white,
and something like a scowl was blackening his heavy,
insipid face.
“Lucille,” he said, “you are very
foolish. It is not much I ask of you, but that
little I will have or I pledge my word to it that
things shall go ill with you and your husband.
There is plain speech for you. Do not be absurd.
Come within, and let us talk. What do you fear?
The house is full of servants, and the carriage can
wait for you here.”
Lucille smiled at him—a maddening smile.
“I am not a child,” she said, “and
such conversations as I am forced to hold with you
will not be under your own roof. Be so good as
to tell the coachman to drive to Dorset House.”
The Prince turned on his heel with a furious oath.
“He can drive you to Hell,” he answered
thickly.
Lucille found the Duchess and Lady Carey together
at Dorset House. She looked from one to the other.
“I thought that there was a meeting to-night,”
she remarked.
The Duchess shook her head.
“Not to-night,” she answered. “It
would not be possible. General
Dolinski is dining at Marlborough House, and De Broullae
is in
Paris. Now tell us all about Mr. Brott.”
“He has gone to Scotland,” Lucille answered.
“I have failed.”
Lady Carey looked up from the depths of the chair
in which she was lounging.
“And the prince?” she asked. “He
went to meet you!”
“He also failed,” Lucille answered.
