“It seems,” he said, smiling towards her, “that I am called upon to pay a heavy entrance fee on my return amongst your friends.  But the Prince of Saxe Leinitzer forgets that he has shown me no authority, or given me no valid reason why I should tolerate such flagrant interference with my personal affairs.”

“To-morrow—­to-morrow, my good sir!” the Prince interrupted.

“No!  To-night!” Mr. Sabin answered sharply.  “Lucille, in the absence of any reasonable explanation, I challenge the right of the Prince of Saxe Leinitzer to rob me even for an hour of my dearest possession.  I appeal to you.  Come with me and remain with me until it has been proved, if ever it can be proved, that greater interests require our separation.  If there be blame I will take it.  Will you trust yourself to me?”

Lucille half rose, but Lady Carey’s hand was heavy upon her shoulder.  As though by a careless movement General Dolinski and Raoul de Brouillac altered their positions slightly so as to come between the two.  The Duke of Dorset had left the room.  Then Mr. Sabin knew that they were all against him.

“Lucille,” he said, “have courage!  I wait for you.”

She looked towards him, and her face puzzled him.  For there flashed across the shoulders of these people a glance which was wholly out of harmony with his own state of barely subdued passion —­a glance half tender, half humorous, full of subtle promise.  Yet her words were a blow to him.

“Victor, how is it possible?  Believe me, I should come if I could.  To-morrow—­very soon, it may be possible.  But now.  You hear what the Prince says.  I fear that he is right!”

To Mr. Sabin the shock was an unexpected one.  He had never doubted but that she at least was on his side.  Her words found him unprepared, and a moment he showed his discomfiture.  His recovery however, was swift and amazing.  He bowed to Lucille, and by the time he raised his head even the reproach had gone from his eyes.

“Dear lady,” he said, “I will not venture to dispute your decision.  Prince, will you appoint a time to-morrow when this matter shall be more fully explained to me?”

The Prince’s smile was sweetness itself, and his tone very gentle.  But Mr. Sabin, who seldom yielded to any passionate impulse, kept his teeth set and his hand clenched, lest the blow he longed to deal should escape him.

“At midday to-morrow I shall be pleased to receive you,” he said.  “The Countess, with her usual devotion and good sense, has, I trust, convinced you that our action is necessary!”

“To-morrow at midday,” Mr. Sabin said, “I will be here.  I have the honour to wish you all good-night.”

His farewell was comprehensive.  He did not even single out Lucille for a parting glance.  But down the broad stairs and across the hall of Dorset House he passed with weary steps, leaning heavily upon his stick.  It was a heavy blow which had fallen upon him.  As yet he scarcely realised it.