“A little nonsense now and then is—­” began the Princess, and paused amiably.

“Is Mr. Chase to stay for lunch?” asked Lady Agnes irrelevantly.

“How should I know?  I am not his hostess.”

“Hoity-toity!  I’ve never known you to look like that before.  A little dash of red sets your cheeks off—­” But Genevra threw up her hands in despair and started toward the stairway, her chin tilted high.  Lady Agnes, laughing softly, followed.  “It’s too bad she’s down to marry that horrid little Brabetz,” she said to herself, with a sudden wistful glance at the proud, vibrant, loveable creature ahead.  “She deserves a better fate than that.”

Genevra waited for her at the head of the stairway.

“Agnes, I’d like you to promise that you will keep your avaricious claws off Mrs. Browne’s husband,” she said, seriously.

“I’ll try, my dear,” said Lady Agnes meekly.

When they reached the garden, they found Deppingham smoking furiously and quite alone.  Chase had left some time before, to give warning to the English bank that trouble might be expected.  The shadow of disappointment that flitted across Genevra’s face was not observed by the others.  Bobby Browne and his wife were off strolling in the lower end of the park.

“Poor old Deppy,” cried his wife.  “I’ve made up my mind to be exceedingly nice to you for a whole day.”

“I suppose I ought to beat you,” he said slowly.

“Beat me?  Why, pray?”

“I received an anonymous letter this morning, telling me of your goings-on with Bobby Browne,” said he easily.  “It was stuck under my door by Bromley, who said that Miss Pelham gave it to her.  Miss Pelham referred me to Mr. Britt and Mr. Britt urged me to keep the letter for future reference.  I think he said it could be used as Exhibit A. Then he advised me to beat you only in the presence of witnesses.”

“The whole household must be going mad,” cried Genevra with a laugh.

“Oh, if something only would happen!” exclaimed her ladyship.  “A riot, a massacre—­anything!  It all sounds like a farce to you, Genevra, but you haven’t been here for five months, as we have.”

As they moved away from the vine-covered nook in the garden, a hand parted the leaves in the balcony above and a dark, saturnine face appeared behind it.  The two women would have felt extremely uncomfortable had they known that a supposedly trusted servant had followed them from the distant corridor, where he had heard every word of their conversation.  This secret espionage had been going on for days in the chateau; scarcely a move was made or a word spoken by the white people that escaped the attention of a swarthy spy.  And, curiously enough, these spies were no longer reporting their discoveries to Hollingsworth Chase.

The days passed.  Hollingsworth Chase now realised that he no longer had authority over the natives; they suffered him to come and go, but gave no heed to his suggestions.  Rasula made the reports for the islanders and took charge of the statements from the bank.