Lady Carey sighed.

“He has broken my heart,” she replied.

The Prince threw out his hands.

“You and I,” he cried, “why do we behave like children!  Let us start afresh.  Listen!  The Emperor has summoned me to Berlin.”

“Dear me,” Lady Carey murmured.  “I am afraid you will have a most unpleasant visit.”

“I dare not go,” the Prince said slowly.  “It was I who induced the Emperor to become the titular head of this cursed Order.  Of course he knew nothing about the second or third degree members and our methods.  Without doubt he is fully informed now.  I dare not face him.”

“What shall you do?” Lady Carey asked curiously.

“I am off to South America,” he said.  “It is a great undeveloped country, and there is room for us to move there.  Muriel, you know what I want of you.”

“My good man,” she answered, “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“You will come with me,” he begged.  “You will not send me into exile so lonely, a wanderer!  Together there may be a great future before us.  You have ambition, you love intrigue, excitement, danger.  None of these can you find here.  You shall come with me.  You shall not say no.  Have I not been your devoted slave?  Have—­”

She stopped him.  Her lips were parted in a smile of good-natured scorn.

“Don’t be absurd, Saxe Leinitzer.  It is true that I love intrigue, excitement and danger.  That is what made me join your Order, and really I have had quite a little excitement out of it, for which I suppose I ought to thank you.  But as for the rest, why, you are talking rubbish.  I would go to South America to-morrow with the right man, but with you, why, it won’t bear talking about.  It makes me angry to think that you should believe me capable of such shocking taste as to dream of going away with you.”

He flung himself from the room.  Lady Carey went back to her coffee and letters.  She sent for Annette.

“Annette,” she directed, “we shall go to Melton to-morrow.  Wire Haggis to have the Lodge in order, and carriages to meet the midday train.  I daresay I shall take a few people down with me.  Let George go around to Tattershalls at once and make an appointment for me there at three o’clock this afternoon.  Look out my habits and boots, too, Annette.”

Lady Carey leaned back in her chair for a moment with half-closed eyes.

“I think,” she murmured, “that some of us in our youth must have drunk from some poisoned cup, something which turned our blood into quicksilver.  I must live, or I must die.  I must have excitement every hour, every second, or break down.  There are others too —­many others.  No wonder that that idiot of a man in Harley Street talked to me gravely about my heart.  No excitement.  A quiet life!  Bah!  Such wishy-washy coffee and only one cigarette.”

She lit it and stood up on the hearthrug.  Her eyes were half closed, every vestige of colour had left her cheeks, her hand was pressed hard to her side.  For a few minutes she seemed to struggle for breath.  Then with a little lurch as though still giddy, she stooped, and picking up her fallen cigarette, thrust it defiantly between her teeth.