Lucille was a little bored.

“The Society,” she said, “is an admirable one enough, but just now I am beginning to feel it a little exacting.  I think that the Prince expects a good deal of one.  I shall certainly ask for my release to-night.”

The Duchess looked doubtful.

“Release!” she repeated.  “Come, is that not rather an exaggerated expression?  I trust that your stay at Dorset House has not in any way suggested an imprisonment.”

“On the contrary,” Lucille answered; “you and the Duke have been most kind.  But you must remember that I have home of my own—­and a husband of my own.”

“I have no doubt,” the Duchess said, “that you will be able to return to them some day.  But you must not be impatient.  I do not think that the Prince has given up all hopes of Reginald Brott yet.”

Lucille was silent.  So her emancipation was to be postponed.  After all, it was what she had feared.  She sat watching idly the Duchess’s knitting needles.  Lady Carey came sweeping in, wonderful in a black velvet gown and a display of jewels almost barbaric.

“On my way to the opera,” she announced.  “The Maddersons sent me their box.  Will any of you good people come?  What do you say, Lucille?”

Lucille shook her head.

“My toilette is deficient,” she said; “and besides, I am staying at home to see the Prince.  We expect him this evening.”

“You’ll probably be disappointed then,” Lady Carey remarked, “for he’s going to join us at the opera.  Run and change your gown.  I’ll wait.”

“Are you sure that the Prince will be there?” Lucille asked.

“Certain.”

“Then I will come,” she said, “if the Duchess will excuse me.”

The Duchess and Lady Carey were left alone for a few minutes.  The former put down her knitting.

“Why do we keep that woman here,” she asked, “now that Brott has broken away from her altogether?”

Lady Carey laughed meaningly.

“Better ask the Prince,” she remarked.

The Duchess frowned.

“My dear Muriel,” she said, “I think that you are wrong to make such insinuations.  I am sure that the Prince is too much devoted to our cause to allow any personal considerations to intervene.”

Lady Carey yawned.

“Rats!” she exclaimed.

The Duchess took up her knitting, and went on with it without remark.  Lady Carey burst out laughing.

“Don’t look so shocked,” she exclaimed.  “It’s funny.  I can’t help being a bit slangy.  You do take everything so seriously.  Of course you can see that the Prince is waiting to make a fool of himself over Lucille.  He has been trying more or less all his life.”

“He may admire her,” the Duchess said.  “I am sure that he would not allow that to influence him in his present position.  By the bye, she is anxious to leave us now that the Brott affair is over.  Do you think that the Prince will agree?”