“No,” I answered.

He struck the bell.  “Bring me the London News,” he said to the boy.  Opening it at the frontispiece he pushed it across to me.

“Has she changed much since you saw her?” he asked, and smiled.

It was a woman’s face that looked at me from the page; and, though it was six years since I had seen it last, I recognized it instantly.  There was, however, a certain coldness in the eyes and a firm set of the lip and jaw that were new to me.  But, as I looked, they seemed to soften, and I could have sworn that for an instant the Princess Dehra of Valeria smiled at me most sweetly—­even as once she herself had done.

“You seem uncommonly well pleased with the lady,” Courtney observed.

I handed back the News.

“You have not answered my question,” he insisted.

“Look here, Courtney,” I said, “it seems to me you are infernally inquisitive to-night.”

“Maybe I am—­only, I wanted to know something,” and he laughed softly.

“Well?”

“I think I know it now,” he said.

“Do you?” I retorted.

“Want to make a bet?” he asked.

“I never bet on a certainty,” said I.

Courtney laughed.  “Neither do I, so here’s the wager:—­a dinner for twenty that you and I are in Valeria thirty days from to-night and have dined with the King and danced with the Princess.”

“Done!” said I.

“All I stipulate is that you do nothing to avoid King Frederick’s invitation.”

“And the Princess?” I asked.

“I’m counting on her to win me the bet,” he laughed.

I picked up the picture and studied it again.  The longer I looked the more willing I was to give Courtney a chance to eat my dinner.

“If the opportunity comes I’ll dance with her,” I said.

“Of course you will—­but will you stop there, I wonder?”

I tapped my grey-besprinkled hair.

“They are no protection,” he said.  “I don’t trust even my own to keep me steady against a handsome woman.”

“They are playing us false even now,” said I.  “I’m not going to Valeria to decide a dinner bet.”

“You’re not.  You’re going as the representative of our Army to observe the Valerian-Titian War.”

“You’re as good as a gypsy or a medium.  When do I start?”

“Don’t be rude, my dear chap, and forget that, under the wager, I’m to be in the King’s invitation—­also the dance.  We sail one week from to-day.”

“A bit late to secure accommodations, isn’t it?”

“They are booked—­on the Wilhelm der Grosse.”

“You are playing a long shot—­several long shots,” I laughed:—­“War—­Washington—­me.”

“Wrong,” said Courtney.  “I’m playing only War.  I have the Secretary and the Princess has you.”

“You have the Secretary!”

“Days ago.”

“The Devil!” I exclaimed, lifting my glass abstractedly.