“On the contrary,” he said, “I do not blame you at all for this last affair.  You brought Lucille here, which was excellent.  Your failure as regards Mr. Sabin is scarcely to be fastened upon you.  It is Horser whom we hold responsible for that.”

She laughed.

“Poor Horser!  It was rather rough to pit a creature like that against Souspennier.”

The man shrugged his shoulders.

“Horser,” he said, “may not be brilliant, but he had a great organisation at his back.  Souspennier was without friends or influence.  The contest should scarcely have been so one-sided.  To tell you the truth, my dear Muriel, I am more surprised that you yourself should have found the task beyond you.”

Lady Carey’s face darkened.

“It was too soon after the loss of Lucille,” she said, “and besides, there was his vanity to be reckoned with.  It was like a challenge to him, and he had taken up the glove before I returned to New York.”

The Duchess looked up from her work.

“Have you had any conversation with my husband, Prince?” she asked.

The Prince of Saxe Leinitzer twirled his heavy moustache and sank into a chair between the two women.

“I have had a long talk with him,” he announced.  “And the result?” the Duchess asked.

“The result I fear you would scarcely consider satisfactory,” the Prince declared.  “The moment that I hinted at the existence of —­er—­conditions of which you, Duchess, are aware, he showed alarm, and I had all that I could do to reassure him.  I find it everywhere amongst your aristocracy—­this stubborn confidence in the existence of the reigning order of things, this absolute detestation of anything approaching intrigue.”

“My dear man, I hope you don’t include me,” Lady Carey exclaimed.

“You, Lady Muriel,” he answered, with a slow smile, “are an exception to all rules.  No, you are a rule by yourself.”

“To revert to the subject then for a moment,” the Duchess said stiffly.  “You have made no progress with the Duke?”

“None whatever,” Saxe Leinitzer admitted.  “He was sufficiently emphatic to inspire me with every caution.  Even now I have doubts as to whether I have altogether reassured him.  I really believe, dear Duchess, that we should be better off if you could persuade him to go and live upon his estates.”

The Duchess smiled grimly.

“Whilst the House of Lords exists,” she remarked, “you will never succeed in keeping Algernon away from London.  He is always on the point of making a speech, although he never does it.”

“I have heard of that speech,” Lady Carey drawled, from her low seat.  “It is to be a thoroughly enlightening affair.  All the great social questions are to be permanently disposed of.  The Prime Minister will come on his knees and beg Algernon to take his place.”

The Duchess looked up over her knitting.