“I suppose,” Forrest remarked thoughtfully, “this young De la Borne has no people living with him, guardians, or that sort of thing?”

“No one of any account,” the Princess answered.  “His father and mother are both dead.  I am afraid, though, he will not be of any use to you, for from what I can hear he is quite poor.  However, Engleton ought to be quite enough if we can keep him in the humour for playing.”

“Ask him a few more questions about the place,” Forrest said.  “If it seems all right, I should like to start as soon as possible.”

They had their coffee at a little table in the foyer, which was already crowded with people.  Their conversation was often interrupted by the salutations of passing acquaintances.  Jeanne alone looked about her with any interest.  To the others, this sort of thing—­the music of the red-coated band, the flowers, and the passing throngs of people, the handsomest and the weariest crowd in the world—­were only part of the treadmill of life.

“By the by, Mr. De la Borne,” the Princess asked, “how much longer are you going to stay in London?”

“I must go back to-morrow or the next day,” the young man answered, a little gloomily.  “I sha’n’t mind it half so much if you people only make up your minds to pay me that visit.”

The Princess motioned to him to draw his chair a little nearer to hers.

“If we take this tour at all,” she remarked, “I should like to start the day after to-morrow.  There is a perfectly hideous function on Thursday which I should so like to miss, and the stupidest dinner-party on earth at night.  Should you be home by then, do you think?”

“If there were any chance of your coming at all,” the young man answered eagerly, “I should leave by the first train to-morrow morning.”

“I think,” the Princess declared softly, “that we will come.  Don’t think me rude if I say that we could not possibly be more bored than we are in London.  I do not want to take Jeanne to any of the country house-parties we have been invited to.  You know why.  She really is such a child, and I am afraid that if she gets any wrong ideas about things she may want to go back to the convent.  She has hinted at it more than once already.”

“There will be nothing of that sort at Salt-house,” Cecil de la Borne declared eagerly.  “You see, I sha’n’t have any guests at all except just yourselves.  Don’t you think that would be best?”

“I do, indeed,” the Princess assented, “and mind, you are not to make any special preparations for us.  For my part, I simply want a little rest before we go abroad again, and we really want to come to you feeling the same way that one leaves one’s home for lodgings in a farmhouse.  You will understand this, won’t you, Cecil?” she added earnestly, laying her fingers upon his arm, “or we shall not come.”

“It shall be just as you say,” he answered.  “As a matter of fact the Red Hall is little more than a large farmhouse, and there is very little preparation which I could make for you in a day or a day and a half.  You shall come and see how a poor English countryman lives, whose lands and income have shrivelled up together.  If you are dull you will not blame me, I know, for all that you have to do is to go away.”