“Why not?” Nigel asked, with polite anxiety.

“You are exhibiting symptoms of infidelity,” she declared.  “Your flirtation with Naida this afternoon was most pronounced, and you went out of your way to ask her to dine to-night.”

“I like that!” Nigel complained.  “Supposing it were true, I should simply be obeying orders.  It was you who incited me to devote myself to her.”

“The sacrifices we women make for the good of our country,” Maggie sighed.  “However, you needn’t have taken me quite so literally.  Do you admire her very much, Nigel?”

He smiled.  His manner, however, was not altogether free from self-consciousness.

“Of course I do,” he admitted.  “She’s a perfectly wonderful person, isn’t she?  Let’s get out of this Victorian environment,” he added, looking around the huge apartment with its formal arrangement of furniture and its atmosphere of prim but faded elegance.  “We’ll go into the smaller room and tell Brookes to bring us some cocktails and cigarettes.  Chalmers won’t expect to be received formally, and Mademoiselle Karetsky will appreciate the cosmopolitan note of our welcome.”

“We do look a little too domestic, don’t we?” Maggie replied, as she passed through the portiere which Nigel was holding up.  “I’m not at all sure that I ought to come and play hostess like this, without an aunt or anything.  I must think of my reputation.  I may decide to marry Mr. Chalmers, and Americans are very particular about that sort of thing.”

“From what I have seen of him, I should think that Chalmers would make you an excellent husband,” Nigel declared, as he rang the bell.  “You need a firm hand, and I should think he would be quite capable of using it.”

“You take the matter far too calmly,” she objected.  “I can assure you that I am getting peevish.  I hate all Russian women with creamy complexions and violet-coloured eyes.”

“They are wonderful eyes,” Nigel declared, after he had given Brookes an order.

Maggie looked at him curiously.

“Naida is for your betters, sir,” she reminded him.  “You must not forget that she is to rule over Russia some day.”

“Just at present,” Nigel observed, “Paul Matinsky has a perfectly good wife of his own.”

“An invalid.”

“Invalids always live long.”

“Presidents and emperors can always get divorces,” Maggie insisted, “especially in this irreligious age.”

“Matinsky isn’t that sort,” Nigel said cheerfully.  “Even an old gossip like Karschoff calls him a purist, and you yourself have spoken of his principles.”

Maggie shrugged her shoulders.

“All right,” she remarked.  “If you are determined to rush into danger, I suppose you must.  There is just one more point to be considered, though.  I suppose you know that if you succeed any farther with Naida, you will introduce a personal note into our coming struggle.”