“You cannot tell,” Penelope answered.  “He has never shown any signs of caring for any woman.  Remember, though, that he would want you to live in Japan.”

“I’d live in Thibet if he asked me to,” Lady Grace declared, raising her handkerchief to her eyes, “but he never will.  He doesn’t care.  He doesn’t understand.  I am very foolish, Penelope.”

Penelope kissed her gently.

“Dear,” she said, “you are not the only foolish woman in the world.” . . .

Conversation amongst the younger members of the house-party at Devenham Castle was a little disjointed that evening.  Perhaps Penelope, who came down in a wonderful black velveteen gown, with a bunch of scarlet roses in her corsage, was the only one who seemed successfully to ignore the passage of arms which had taken place so short a while ago.  She talked pleasantly to Somerfield, who tried to be dignified and succeeded only in remaining sulky.  Chance had placed her at some distance from the Prince, to whom Lady Grace was talking with a subdued softness in her manner which puzzled Captain Wilmot, her neighbor on the other side.

“I saw you with all the evening papers as usual, Bransome,” the Prime Minister remarked during the service of dinner.  “Was there any news?”

“Nothing much,” the Foreign Secretary replied.  “Consuls are down another point and the Daily Comet says that you are like a drowning man clinging to the raft of your majority.  Excellent cartoon of you, by the bye.  You shall see it after dinner.”

“Thank you,” the Prime Minister said.  “Was there anything about you in the same paper by any chance?”

“Nothing particularly abusive,” Sir Edward answered blandly.  “By the bye, the police declare that they have a definite clue this time, and are going to arrest the murderer of Hamilton Fynes and poor dicky Vanderpole tonight or tomorrow.”

“Excellent!” the Duke declared.  “It would have been a perfect disgrace to our police system to have left two such crimes undetected.  Our respected friend at the Home Office will have a little peace now.”

“How about me?” Bransome grumbled.  “Haven’t I been worried to death, too?”

The Prince, who had just finished describing to Lady Grace a typical landscape of his country, turned toward Bransome.

“I think that I heard you say something about a discovery in connection with those wonderful murder cases,” he said.  “Has any one actually been arrested?”

“My paper was an early edition,” Bransome answered, “but it spoke of a sensational denouement within the next few hours.  I should imagine that it is all over by now.  At the same time it’s absurd how the Press give these things away.  It seems that some fellow who was bicycling saw a man get in and out of poor Dicky’s taxi and is quite prepared to swear to him.”

“Has he not been rather a long time in coming forward with his evidence?” the Prince remarked.  “I do not remember to have seen any mention of such a person in the papers before.”