She toyed with her rings a bit.  “Why should I deliberately bring you and the Princess together?” she demanded.

“Why, indeed?” said I.

“You are of the Blood:—­the Palace is open to you.”

I raised my hand sharply in warning.

She glanced over my shoulder, toward the window, with a derisive smile. 
“True, the Princess might wonder how I knew.”

I made no answer.

“And the explanation would be a trifle difficult,” she appended.

“Do you think she would ask an explanation?” I inquired.

She smiled.  “No; you would have to volunteer it.”

“That would be easy,” I said indifferently.

“Surely!  Surely! it would be easy to tell the Princess Royal that you were so confidential with Lady Helen Radnor, on the terrace at the Birthday Ball, that you told her the secret of your cousinship—­try it, Major Dalberg, try it—­it will be so easy,” and she laughed softly.

“I rather think I shall,” said I, looking her in the eye.  “I prefer that she hear it from me.”

Her mood changed instantly.  “You don’t trust me?” she said.

I leaned forward and said.  “I trust you entirely; surely, you know that!”

“And you will believe I had no appointment to meet the Princess?”

“If you wish it,” I said.

Then the King and the Princess returned to the table.

VIII

THE LAWS OF THE DALBERGS

“Are you in haste to return?” the King asked Lady Helen.

“None whatever, sire,” she replied.

“And you, Major Dalberg?” he asked.

“I am at Your Majesty’s service,” said I, bowing.

“Then, if the ladies will excuse you for a short while?”

“Don’t make it too short, sire,” said Lady Helen—­and then the door closed and saved me a reply; which, doubtless, was as well, for I have not yet thought of a good one.

“Bright girl, that,” said the King.

“Yes,” said I, “embarrassingly bright at times.”

“Was she in Washington with Radnor?”

“Yes; I knew her there.”

“Then you don’t need to be warned.”

I was silent.

“She has incapacitated half my military household with lacerated hearts or, indirectly, with punctured bodies; there is small difference.”

“Better have only married officers,” I suggested.

“Lord, sir, they are the first victims.  Immunes are what I want.”

“Like myself, for instance,” said I.

He turned and put his hand on my shoulder.  “I’ve had plenty like you, lad,” he said kindly.

I laughed.  “Then I may not hope for a place at Court?” I asked—­and straightway wondered why I had asked it.

We had just come to a small door, before which paced a soldier of the Guard, and the King made no reply until we were in his private library and he had motioned me to a chair and an assortment of pipes and cigars.