Paul bowed politely.  His head being full of his Princess, he was vaguely puzzled as to the reasons for which Lady Danesborough desired his acquaintance.

“You don’t remember me,” she said.

He looked at her squarely for the first time; then started back.  “Good God!” he cried involuntarily.  “Good God!  I’ve been wanting to find you all my life.  I never knew your name.  But here’s the proof.”

And he whipped out the cornelian heart from his waistcoat pocket.  She took it in her hand, examined it, handed it back to him with a smile, a very sweet and womanly smile, with just the suspicion of mist veiling her eyes.

“I know.  The Princess has told me.”

“But how did she find you out—­I mean as my first patroness?”

“She wrote to the vicar, Mr. Merewether—­he is still at Bludston—­asking who his visitor was that year and what had become of her.  So she found out it was I. I’ve known her off and on ever since my marriage.”

“You were wonderfully good to me,” said Paul.  “I must have been a funny little wretch.”

“You’ve travelled far since then.”

“It was you that gave me my inspiration,” said he.

The announcement of dinner broke the thread of the talk.  Paul looked around him and saw that the room was filled with very great people indeed.  There were chiefs of his party and other exalted personages.  There was Lord Francis Ayres.  Also the Winwoods.  The procession was formed.

“I’ve often wondered about you,” said Lady Danesborough, as they were walking down the wide staircase.  “Several thin happened to mark that day.  For one, I had spilled a bottle of awful scent all over my dress and I was in a state of odoriferous misery.”

Paul laughed boyishly.  “The mystery of my life is solved at last.”  He explained, to her frank delight.  “You’ve not changed a bit,” said he.  “And oh!  I can’t tell you how good it is to meet you after all. these years.”

“I’m very, very glad you feel so,” she said significantly.  “More than glad.  I was wondering . . . but our dear Princess was right.”

“It seems to me that-the Princess has been playing conspirator,” said Paul.

They entered the great dining-room, very majestic with its long, glittering table, its service of plate, its stately pictures, its double row of powdered and liveried footmen, and Paul learned, to his amazement, that in violation of protocols and tables of precedence, his seat was on the right hand of the Princess.  Conspiracy again.  Hitherto at her parties he had occupied his proper place.  Never before had she publicly given him especial mark of her favour.

“Do you think she’s right in doing this?” he murmured to Lady Danesborough.

It seemed so natural that he should ask her—­as though she were fully aware of all his secrets.

“I think so,” she smiled—­as though she too were in the conspiracy.