She flung his hands away.  He felt her eyes burning into his, this time with something more like furious curiosity.

“Let me look at you,” she cried.  “Let me be sure.  Is this just some ghastly change, or are you an imposter?  My heart is growing chilled.  Are you the man I have waited for all these years?  Are you the man to whom I have given my lips, for whose sake I offered up my reputation as a sacrifice, the man who slew my husband and left me?”

“I was exiled,” he reminded her, his own voice shaking with emotion.  “You know that.  So far as other things are concerned, I am exiled now.  I am working out my expiation.”

She leaned back in her seat with an air of exhaustion.  Her eyes closed.  Then the car drove in through some iron gates and stopped in front of her door, which was immediately opened.  A footman hurried out.  She turned to Dominey.

“You will not enter,” she pleaded, “for a short time?”

“If you will permit me to pay you a visit, it will give me great pleasure,” he answered formally.  “I will call, if I may, on my return from Norfolk.”

She gave him her hand with a sad smile.

“Let my people take you wherever you want to go,” she invited, “and remember,” she added, dropping her voice, “I do not admit defeat.  This is not the last word between us.”

She disappeared in some state, escorted through the great front door of one of London’s few palaces by an attractive major-domo and footman in the livery of her House.  Dominey drove back to the Carlton, where in the lounge he found the band playing, crowds still sitting around, amongst whom Seaman was conspicuous, in his neat dinner clothes and with his cherubic air of inviting attention from prospective new acquaintances.  He greeted Dominey enthusiastically.

“Come,” he exclaimed, “I am weary of solitude!  I have seen scarcely a face that I recognise.  My tongue is parched with inaction.  I like to talk, and there has been no one to talk to.  I might as well have opened up my little house in Forest Hill.”

“I’ll talk to you if you like,” Dominey promised a little grimly, glancing at the clock and hastily ordering a whisky and soda.  “I will begin by telling you this,” he added, lowering his tone.  “I have discovered the greatest danger I shall have to face during my enterprise.”

“What is that?”

“A woman—­the Princess Eiderstrom.”

Seaman lit one of his inevitable cigars and threw one of his short, fat legs over the other.  He gazed for a moment with an air of satisfaction at his small foot, neatly encased in court shoes.

“You surprise me,” he confessed.  “I have considered the matter.  I cannot see any great difficulty.”

“Then you must be closing your eyes to it willfully,” Dominey retorted, “or else you are wholly ignorant of the Princess’s temperament and disposition.”

“I believe I appreciate both,” Seaman replied, “but I still do not see any peculiar difficulty in the situation.  As an English nobleman you have a perfect right to enjoy the friendship of the Princess Eiderstrom.”