“Our game?” I echoed blankly, forgetting for the moment the compact of the Ball.

She smiled.  “You see, you play it better than I ever can.  I don’t even know enough to forget it is a game.”

I turned and looked her in the eyes.  “Then, in all you have done lately, you have been only playing the game?” I asked.

“Is that quite a fair question?” she answered.

“Yes—­under the circumstances.”

“But I thought you called it a game?”

“I did.”

“And, yet, you ask me to spread my cards on the table?”

“Not exactly; I ask to see only the tricks that are turned,” said I.

She shook her head.  “It’s all the same—­we must play fair.”

“Was it quite fair to write me that note unless you were sincere?” I asked.

She looked me straight.  “Tell me,” she demanded, “tell me, on your honor; had you not already made decision when my note reached you?”

I hesitated.  “It clinched the matter,” I said, lamely.

The Princess smiled.

“And, had the decision been otherwise, the note would have reversed it,” I added.

The smile broadened.  “But, since the note was in no way responsible, nor even persuasive, its sincerity does not matter,” she said.

“But, if I were to change my mind?” I replied.

She glanced at my uniform and at the gleaming Star of the Lion.

“They can be removed,” I said; “they are only borrowed.”

“No, Your Royal Highness,” said she, “they cannot be removed—­not in the way you mean; your word is passed to your King.”

Your King!  It was the first reminder I was no longer a free American, and it gave me something of a shock.  And Dehra understood, and showed no mercy.

“And, as an Archduke of Valeria, and almost the Heir Presumptive, you must know what it means to give your word to your King,” she said.

“I trust I know what it means to give my word to anyone,” I returned.

“Now, don’t get on your dignity, Armand,” she laughed.  “You understand me perfectly.”

I raised my hands in protest.  “Understand you perfectly!” I exclaimed.  “I wish I understood you even a little.”

“You’re not as nice as you were during the first part of the dinner.”

“Did you ever hear the slang Americanism ’there are others’?” I asked.

She took a cigarette and lighted it—­and passed it to me; then lighted another for herself.

“What was it you asked about that note?” she said, and gave me one of those subduing smiles.

I dropped my hand below the table and found her fingers.  “You meant it, Dehra; truly?” I asked.

Sue released her fingers and placed both hands on the cloth.  “Of course I meant it—­when I wrote it,” she said.

“That’s quite as much as I’ve any right to expect,” I answered.

“That’s the proper frame of mind, cousin,” said she.