made for a Rajah who died before it was ready.  Lord Robert certainly knows more about automobiles than any other human being does, and he thought this was just what I would want.  Di had the most horrid headache this morning, poor child, and wasn’t fit for the fatigue of a big crush, so, as she’s a splendid sailor, I persuaded her to come with us—­and Lisa, too, of course.  We caught the afternoon train to Boulogne, and had such a glorious crossing that we actually all had the courage to dress and dine at Madrid—­wasn’t it plucky of us?  But we’re collapsing now, and have come back early, as we must inspect the car the first thing to-morrow morning and do a heap of shopping afterwards.”

“If you’re collapsing, I mustn’t keep you standing here a moment,” I said, anxious for more than one reason to get away.  Di wasn’t looking at me.  Half turned from me, purposely I didn’t doubt, she had begun a conversation with Bob West, who beamed with joy over her kindness to him and her apparent indifference to me.

“‘Collapsing’ is an exaggeration perhaps,” laughed Lady Mountstuart.  “But, instead of keeping us standing here, come up to our sitting-room and have a little talk—­and whisky and soda.”

“Yes, do come, Dundas,” her husband added.

“Thank you both,” I stammered, trying not to look embarrassed.  “But—­I know you’re all tired, and—.”

“And perhaps you have some nice engagement,” piped Lisa.

“It’s too late for respectable British young men to have engagements in naughty Paris,” said Lady Mountstuart, laughing again (she looks very handsome when she laughs, and knows it).  “Isn’t that true, Mr. Dundas?”

“It depends upon the engagement,” I managed to reply calmly.  But then, as Di suddenly turned and looked straight at me with marked coldness, the blood sprang up to my face.  I began to stammer again like a young ass of a schoolboy.  “I’m afraid that I—­er—­the fact is, I am engaged.  A matter of business.  I wish I could get out of it, but I can’t, and—­er—­I shall have to run off, or I will be late.  Good-bye,—­good-bye.”  Then I mumbled something about hoping to see them again before they left Paris, and escaped, knowing that I had made a horrid mess of my excuses.  Di was laughing at something West said, as I turned away, and though perhaps his remark and her laugh had nothing to do with me, my ears burned, and there was a cold lump of iron, or something that felt like it, where my heart ought to have been.

Now was Lord Robert’s time to propose—­now, when she believed me faithless and unworthy—­if he but knew it.  And I was afraid that he would know it.

I got out into the open air, feeling half-dazed as one of the under porters called me a cab.  I gave the name of a street in the direction, but at some distance from Maxine’s, lest ears should hear which ought not to hear:  and it was only when we were well away from the hotel that I amended my first instructions.  Even then, I mentioned the street leading into the one where I was due, not the street itself.