“You are not an Englishwoman,” he reminded her.

“That is of minor importance.  We are all so much immersed in great affairs just now that we forget it is the small ones that count.  I want my luncheon to be perfect, I want you to seem as nice to me as I have fancied you, and I want you to chase completely away the idea that you are cultivating my acquaintance for interested motives.”

“That I can assure you from the bottom of my heart is not the case,” he replied.  “Whatever other interests I may feel in you,” he added, after a moment’s hesitation, “my first and foremost is a personal one.”

She looked at him with gratitude in her eyes for his understanding.

“A woman in my position,” she complained, “is out of place.  A man ought to come over and study your deservings or your undeservings and pore over the problem of the future of Europe.  I am a woman, and I am not big enough.  I am too physical.  I have forgotten how to enjoy myself, and I love pleasure.  Now am I a revelation to you?”

“You have always been that,” he told her.  “You are so truthful yourself,” he went on boldly, “that I shall run the risk of saying the most banal thing in the world, just because it happens to be the truth.  I have felt for you since our first meeting what I have felt for no other woman in the world.”

“I like that, and I am glad you said it,” she declared lightly enough, although her lips quivered for a moment.  “And they have put exactly the right quantity of Maraschino in my grapefruit.  I feel that I am on the way to happiness.  I am going to enjoy my luncheon.—­Tell me about Maggie.”

“I saw her yesterday,” he answered.  “We have arranged for her to come and live at Belgrave Square, after all.”

“My terrible altruism once more,” she sighed.  “I had meant not to speak another serious word, and yet I must.  Maggie is very clever, amazingly clever, I sometimes think, but if she had the brains of all of her sex rolled into one, she would still be facing now an impossible situation.”

“Just what do you mean?” he asked cautiously.

“Maggie seems determined to measure her wits with those of Prince Shan,” she said.  “Believe me, that is hopeless.”

She looked up at him and laughed softly.

“Oh, my dear friend,” she went on, “that wooden expression is wonderful.  You do not quite know where I stand, except—­may I flatter myself?—­as regards your personal feelings for me.  Am I for Immelan and his schemes, or for your own foolish country?  You do not know, so you make for yourself a face of wood.”

“Where do you stand?” he asked bluntly.

“Sufficiently devoted to your interests to beg you this,” she replied.  “Do not let your little cousin think that she can deal with a man like Prince Shan.  There can be only one end to that.”

Nigel moved a little uneasily in his place.

“Prince Shan is only an ordinary human being, after all,” he protested.