Genevra drew a chair up beside his couch and sat down.

Lady Agnes was yawning sleepily over a book.

“Do you know, I believe I’d feel better if I could have another chill,” he said.  “I’m so beastly hot now that I can’t stand it.  Aggie, why don’t you turn out on the balcony for a bit of fresh air?  I’m a brute to have kept you moping in here all evening.”

Lady Agnes sighed prettily and—­stepped out into the murky night.  There were signs of an approaching storm in the sultry air.

“I say, Genevra, what’s the news?” demanded his lordship.

“The latest bulletin says that you are very much improved and that you expect to pass a comfortable night.”

“’Gad I do feel better.  I’m not so stuffy.  Where is Chase?”

Now, the Princess, it is most distressing to state, had wilfully avoided Mr. Chase since early that morning.

“I’m sure I don’t know.  I had dinner with Mrs. Browne in her room.  I fancy he’s off attending to the guard.  I haven’t seen him.”

“Nice chap,” remarked Deppingham.  “Isn’t that he now, speaking to Agnes out there?”

Genevra looked up quickly.  A man’s voice came in to them from the balcony, following Lady Deppingham’s soft laugh.

“No,” she said, settling back calmly.  “It’s Mr. Browne.”

“Oh,” said Deppingham, a slight shadow coming into his eyes.  “Nice chap, too,” he added a moment later.

“I don’t like him,” said she, lowering her voice.  Deppingham was silent.  Neither spoke for a long time The low voices came to them indistinctly from the outside.

“I’ve no doubt Agnes is as much to blame as he,” said his lordship at last.  “She’s made a fool of more than one man, my dear.  She rather likes it.”

“He’s behaving like a brute.  They’ve been married less than a year.”

“I daresay I’d better call Aggie off,” he mused.

“It’s too late.”

“Too late?  The deuce—­”

“I mean, too late to help Drusilla Browne.  She’s had an ideal shattered.”

“It really doesn’t amount to anything, Genevra,” he argued.  “It will blow over in a fortnight.  Aggie’s always doing this sort of thing, you know.”

“I know, Deppy,” she said sharply.  “But this man is different.  He’s not a gentleman.  Mr. Skaggs wasn’t a gentleman.  Blood tells.  He will boast of this flirtation until the end of his days.”

“Aggie’s had dozens of men in love with her—­really in love,” he protested feebly.  “She’s not—­”

“They’ve come and gone and she’s still the same old Agnes and you’re the same old Deppy.  I’m not thinking of you or Aggie.  It’s Drusilla Browne.”

“I see.  Thanks for the confidence you have in Aggie.  I daresay I know how Drusilla feels.  I’ve—­I’ve had a bad turn or two, myself, lately, and—­but, never mind.”  He was silent for some time, evidently turning something over in his mind.  “By the way, what does Chase say about it?” he asked suddenly.