“I met your uncle once,” Naida said, “at a dinner party in Paris.  I remember that he attracted me.  He represented a class of Englishman of whom I had met very few, the thinking aristocrat with a sense for foreign affairs.  It was some years ago, that.  He remained outside politics, did he not, until his death?”

“Outside all practical politics,” Nigel assented.  “He had his interests, though.”

She looked at him thoughtfully.

“Have you inherited them?” she asked.

He declined the challenge of her eyes.  After all, she belonged to the Russia whose growing strength was the greatest menace to European peace, and whose attitude towards England was entirely uncertain.

“My uncle and I were scarcely intimate,” he said.  “I was never really in his confidence.”

“Not so much so as Lady Maggie Trent?  She would be your cousin?”

“It is not a relationship of blood,” Nigel replied.  “Lady Maggie was the daughter of my uncle’s second wife.”

“She is very charming,” Naida murmured.

“I find her delightful,” Nigel agreed.

“She is not only charming, but she has intelligence,” Naida continued.  “I think that Lord Dorminster was very fond of her, that he trusted her with many of his secrets.”

“Had he secrets?” Nigel asked.

She remained for a moment very thoughtful, smoking a thin cigarette through a long holder and watching the little rings of smoke.

“You are right,” she said at last.  “I find your attitude the only correct one.  Did you know that Maggie was a friend of mine, Lord Dorminster?”

“I can very well believe it,” he answered, “but I have never heard her speak of you.”

“Ah!  But she has been away for some months.  You have not seen much of her, perhaps, since her return?”

“Very little,” he acquiesced.  “She only arrived in London just before my uncle’s death, and since then I have had to spend some time at Dorminster.”

“As a matter of curiosity,” Naida enquired, “when do you expect to see her again?”

“This afternoon, I hope,” he replied,—­“directly I leave here, in fact.”

“Then you will give her a little message for me, please?”

“With great pleasure!”

“Tell her from me—­mind she understands this, if you please—­that she is not to leave England again until we have met.”

“Is this a warning?” he asked.

She looked at him searchingly.

“I wonder,” she reflected, “how much of you is Lord Dorminster’s nephew.”

“And I, in my turn,” he rejoined, with sudden boldness, “wonder how much of you is Matinsky’s envoy.”

She began to laugh softly.

“We shall perhaps be friends, Lord Dorminster,” she said.  “I should like to see more of you.”

“You will permit me to call upon you,” he begged eagerly.

“Will you come?  We are at the Milan Court for a little time.  My father is trying to get a house.  My sister is coming over to look after him.  I am unfortunately only a bird of passage.”