On the next day, and yesterday, he was still absent.  In the evening we went to the Seely-Hardwicke’s dance.  The thing was wonderfully done.  An exuberant vegetation that suggested a virgin forest was qualified by the presence of several hundred people.  It was impossible to dance or to feel lonely; and our hostess looked radiant as the moon in the reflected rays of her success.  We shook hands with her and were swallowed in the crowd.

About half-an-hour later, as I watched the crush from a recess beside an open window and listened to the waltz that the band was playing, Seely-Hardwicke himself thrust his way towards me.  He was crumpled and perspiring copiously:  but the glory of it all sat on his blunt face yet more openly than on his wife’s lovely features.

“I’ve not been here above ten minutes,” he explained.  “Had to run down to Liverpool suddenly last night, and only reached King’s Cross something less ’n an hour back.  Quick work.”

“How’s Billy?” I asked, after a few commonplace words.

“Off colour, still.  I went up to see him, just now:  but the nurse wouldn’t let him be disturbed; said he was sleepin’.  Best thing for him.  You’ll see him out, as lively as a lark, to-morrow.”

“And getting stopped, as usual, by the police for expounding his idea of a canter in the Ladies’ Mile.”

He laughed.  “Hey?  I like that.  I like spirit.  He looks fragile—­he’s like his mother for that—­but they’re game every inch, the pair of ’em.  You may think me silly, but I don’t know that I can last out this without runnin’ up to have a look at him.  I haven’t seen him for two days.”

I believe he was on the point of launching out into any number of fatherly confidences.  But at this point he was claimed by an acquaintance some ten paces off; and, plunging among his guests, was lost to me.

I cannot tell you, my dear Prince, how much time elapsed between this and the arrival of the home-grown Potentate—­as you must allow me to call him until we meet and I can whisper his august name.  But I know that shortly after his arrival, while I still loafed in my recess and hoped that Violet would soon drift in my direction and allow herself to be taken home, the throng around me began to thin in a most curious manner.  How it happened—­whence it started and how it spread—­I cannot tell you.  Only it seemed as if something began to be whispered, and the whisper melted the crowd like sugar.  Almost before I grew aware of what was happening, I could see the far side of the room, and the Potentate there by Mrs. Seely-Hardwicke’s side; and could mark their faces.  His was cast in a polite, but slightly rigid smile.  His eyes wandered.  That supernumerary sense which all his family possesses had warned him that something was wrong.  Mrs. Seely-Hardwicke’s face was white as chalk, though her eyes returned his smile.

At this moment Violet came towards me.

“Take me home,” she commanded, but under her breath.  As she said it she shivered.