That was their position, perfectly defined, perfectly understood.  They had arrived at it after many arguments and kisses and lovers’ protestations.

“Such as I am I am,” cried Paul.  “A waif and stray, an unknown figure coming out of the darkness.  I have nothing to give you but my love.”

“Are there titles or riches on earth of equal value?”

“But I must give you more.  The name Paul Savelli itself must be a title of honour.”

“It is becoming that,” said the Princess.  “And we can wait a little, Paul, can’t we?  We are so happy like this.  Ah!” she sighed.  “I have never been so happy in my life.”

“Nor I,” said Paul.

“And am I really the first?”

“The first.  Believe it or not as you like.  But it’s a fact.  I’ve told you my life’s dream.  I never sank below it; and that is why perhaps it has come true.”

For once the assertion was not the eternal lie.  Paul came fresh-hearted to his Princess.

“I wish I were a young girl, Paul.”

“You are a star turned woman.  The Star of my Destiny in which I always believed.  The great things will soon come.”

They descended to more commonplace themes.  Until the great things came, what should be their mutual attitude before Society?

“Until I can claim you, let it be our dear and beautiful secret,” said Paul.  “I would not have it vulgarized by the chattering world for anything in life.”

Then Paul proved himself to be a proud and delicate lover, and when London with its season and its duties and its pleasures absorbed them, he had his reward.  For it was sweet to see her in great assemblies, shining like a queen and like a queen surrounded by homage, and to know that he alone of mortals was enthroned in her heart.  It was sweet to meet her laughing glance, dear fellow-conspirator.  It was sweet every morning and night to have the intimate little talk through the telephone.  And it was sweetest of all to snatch a precious hour with her alone.  Of such vain and foolish things is made all that is most beautiful in life.

He took his dearest lady—­though Miss Winwood, now disclaimed the title—­into his confidence.  So did the Princess.  It was very comforting to range Miss Winwood on their side; and to feel themselves in close touch with her wisdom and sympathy.  And her sympathy manifested itself in practical ways—­those of the woman confidante of every love affair since the world began.  Why should the Princess Zobraska not interest herself in some of the philanthropic schemes of which the house in Portland Place was the headquarters?  There was one, a Forlorn Widows’ Fund, the presidency of which she would be willing to resign in favour of the Princess.  The work was trivial:  it consisted chiefly in consultation with Mr. Savelli and in signing letters.  The Princess threw her arms round her neck, laughing and blushing and calling her delicieuse.  You see it was obvious that Mr. Savelli could not be consulted in his official capacity or official letters signed elsewhere than in official precincts.