“This is romance!” I retorted.  “The doctor is Professor Keredec, illustriously known in this country, but not as a physician, and they are following some form of scientific research together, I believe.  But, assuming to speak as Mr. Saffren’s friend,” I added, rising with the others upon Miss Ward’s example, “I’m sure if he could come to know of your interest, he would much rather play Hamlet for you than let you find him disappointing.”

“If he could come to know of my interest!” she echoed, glancing down at herself with mock demureness.  “Don’t you think he could come to know something more of me than that?”

The windows had been thrown open, allowing passage to a veranda.  Miss Elizabeth led the way outdoors with the prince, the rest of us following at hazard, and in the mild confusion of this withdrawal I caught a final glimpse of Mrs. Harman, which revealed that she was still looking at me with the same tensity; but with the movement of intervening groups I lost her.  Miss Elliott pointedly waited for me until I came round the table, attached me definitely by taking my arm, accompanying her action with a dazzling smile.  “Oh, do you think you can manage it?” she whispered rapturously, to which I replied—­as vaguely as I could—­that the demands of scientific research upon the time of its followers were apt to be exorbitant.

Tables and coffee were waiting on the broad terrace below, with a big moon rising in the sky.  I descended the steps in charge of this pretty cavalier, allowed her to seat me at the most remote of the tables, and accepted without unwillingness other gallantries of hers in the matter of coffee and cigarettes.  “And now,” she said, “now that I’ve done so much for your dearest hopes and comfort, look up at the milky moon, and tell me all!”

“If you can bear it?”

She leaned an elbow on the marble railing that protected the terrace, and, shielding her eyes from the moonlight with her hand, affected to gaze at me dramatically.  “Have no distrust,” she bade me.  “Who and what is the glorious stranger?”

Resisting an impulse to chime in with her humour, I gave her so dry and commonplace an account of my young friend at the inn that I presently found myself abandoned to solitude again.

“I don’t know where to go,” she complained as she rose.  “These other people are most painful to a girl of my intelligence, but I cannot linger by your side; untruth long ago lost its interest for me, and I prefer to believe Mr. Jean Ferret—­if that is the gentleman’s name.  I’d join Miss Ward and Cressie Ingle yonder, but Cressie would be indignant!  I shall soothe my hurt with sweetest airs.  Adieu.”