Netty looked gently distressed.  At times she almost thought Uncle Joseph inclined to be coarse.  She looked across the lawn with a rather wistful expression, eminently suited to dark blue eyes.  The young men below were still glancing up in her direction, but she did not seem to see them.  At this moment Wanda and Martin returned to their box.  Wanda was preoccupied, and sat down without noticing the new-comers.  Several ladies leaned over the low partitions and asked questions, which were unintelligible to Netty, and the news was spread from mouth to mouth that the Prince Bukaty was not hurt.

Joseph P. Mangles looked at the brother and sister beneath his heavy brows.  He knew quite well who they were, but did not consider himself called upon to transmit the information.

“Even the best people seem to lend their countenance to this,” said Miss Mangles, in an undertone.

“You are right, Jooly.”

But Miss Mangles did not hear.  She was engaged in bowing to Paul Deulin, who was coming up the steps.  She was rather glad to see him, for the feeling had come over her that she was quite unknown to all these people.  This is a feeling to which even the greatest are liable, and it is most unpleasant.  For the heart of the celebrated is apt to hunger for the nudge of recognition and the surreptitious sidelong glance which convey the gratifying fact that one has been recognized.  Paul Deulin would serve to enlighten these benighted people, and some little good might yet be done by a distinct and dignified attitude of disapproval towards the turf.

“One would scarcely expect to see you here, Mr. Deulin,” she said, shaking hands, with a playful shake of the head.

“Since you are here,” he answered, “there can be no harm.  It is only a garden-party, after all.”

And he bowed over Netty’s head with an empressement which would have conveyed to any one more versed in the ways of men the reason why he had come.

“Do you bet, Mr. Deulin?” inquired Jooly.

“Never, unless I am quite sure,” he answered.

“There is,” observed Miss Mangles, who was inclined to be gracious—­“there is perhaps less harm in that.”

“And less risk,” explained Deulin gravely.  “But surely,” he said, in a lower tone, turning to Netty, “you know the Princess Wanda?  Did you not meet her at Lady Orlay’s?”

Netty had already displayed some interest in Martin Bukaty, which was perhaps indiscreet.  For a young man’s vanity is singularly alert, and he was quite ready to return the interest with interest, so to speak.

“Yes,” she replied, “we met her at Lady Orlay’s.  But I think she does not remember—­though she seemed to recollect Mr. Cartoner, whom she met at the same time.”

Deulin looked at her with his quick smile as he nodded a little, comprehending nod, and Netty’s eyes looked into his innocently.

“Be assured,” he answered, “that she has not seen you, or she would not fail to remember you.  You are sitting back to back, you observe.  The princess is rather distrait with thoughts of her father, who has just had a slight mishap.”