John was suddenly conscious of the closeness of the atmosphere. The fingers of his hands were clenched tightly together. He swore to himself that he would not look into this woman's face. He listened to the band which was playing in the balcony of the great hall, to the murmur of the voices, the shouts of laughter. He told himself that Mme. Calavera was amusing herself with him.

"The prince's party," she continued, after a long pause, "seems to be a great success, to judge by the noise they are making. So many people shout and laugh when they are happy. I myself find a more perfect expression of happiness in silence."

She was leaning a little back in her place. One arm was resting upon a pile of cushions, the other hung loosely over the side of the divan.

John felt a sudden desire to rise to his feet, and a simultaneous consciousness that his feet seemed to be made of lead.

"You may hold my fingers," she said; "and please keep your face turned toward me. Why are you nervous? I am not very formidable."

He took her fingers, very much as the prince had done upon her arrival, and pressed them formally to his lips. Then he released them and rose.

"You know," he confessed, "I am very stupid at this sort of thing. Shall we go back to the reception rooms? I shall be the most unpopular man here if I keep you any longer."

The smile deepened slightly. Little lines appeared at the sides of her eyes. So far from being annoyed, he could see that she was laughing.

"Joseph," she mocked, "I am not tempting you, really! Do sit down. I have met men in many countries, but none like you. So you do not wish to accept those small privileges which a woman may offer when she chooses?"

"I believe--in fact, I am almost certain--that I love the woman I have come to London to see," John declared.

"You get more and more interesting," she murmured. "Don't you realize that your love for one woman should make you kind to all?"

"No, I don't," he answered bluntly.

"Come," she said, "do not be afraid of me. I will not make love to you--seriously. You must be kind to me because everybody spoils me.

After supper there are one or two more questions I must ask you. Do you know that I am going to dance here? Never before have I danced in a private house in England. Except upon the stage, I like to dance only to those whom I love!"

The little s.p.a.ce between the curtains was suddenly darkened. John turned eagerly around, and, to his immense relief, recognized the prince.

Their host came forward to where they were sitting, and held out his arm to Calavera.

"Dear lady," he announced, "supper is served. Will you do me this great honor?"

She rose to her feet. The prince turned to John.

"This is my privilege as host," he explained; "but if you will follow us, you will find some consolation in store for you."

XVII

"Well?" the prince asked, as he handed Aida Calavera to her place at his right hand.

"I think not," she replied.

He raised his eyebrows slightly. For a moment he glanced down the supper-table with the care of a punctilious host, to see that his guests were properly seated. He addressed a few trivialities to the musical-comedy star who was sitting on his left. Then he leaned once more toward the great dancer.

"You surprise me," he said. "I should have thought that the enterprise would have commended itself to you. You do not doubt the facts?"

"They are obvious enough," she replied. "The young man is all that you say, even more ingenuous than I had believed possible, but I fancy I must be getting old. He tried to tell me that he was in love with another woman, and I felt suddenly powerless. I think I must be getting to that age when one prefers to achieve one's conquests with the lifting of a finger."

The prince sighed.

"I shall never understand your s.e.x!" he declared. "I should have supposed that the slight effort of resistance such a young man might make would have provided just the necessary stimulus to complete his subjection."

She turned her beautiful head and looked at the prince through narrowed eyes.

"After all," she asked, "what should I gain? I am not like a child who robs an insect of life for a few moments' amus.e.m.e.nt. Even if I have no conscience, it gives me no pleasure to be wanton. Besides, the young man is, in his way, a splendid work of art. Why should I be vandal enough to destroy it? I shall ask you another question."

The prince slowly sipped the wine from the gla.s.s that he was holding to his lips. Then he set it down deliberately.

"Why not?"

"What is your interest? Is it a bet, a whim, or--enmity?"

"You may count it the latter," the prince replied deliberately.

Calavera laughed softly to herself.

"Now, for the first time," she confessed, "I feel interest. This is where one realizes that we live in the most impossible age of all history. The great n.o.ble who seeks to destroy the poor young man from the country is powerless to wreak harm upon him. You can neither make him a pauper nor have him beaten to death. Why are there princes any longer, I wonder? You are only as other men."

"It is an unhappy reflection, but it is the truth," the prince admitted.

"My ancestors would have disposed of this young man as I should a troublesome fly, and it would have cost them no more than a few silver pieces and a cask of wine. To-day, alas, conditions are different. It will cost me more."

She trifled for a moment with the salad upon her plate, which as yet she had scarcely tasted.

"I am feeling," she remarked, "magnificently Oriental--like Cleopatra.

The sensation pleases me. We are bargaining, are we not--"

"We shall not bargain," the prince interrupted softly. "It is you who shall name your price."

She raised her eyes and dropped them again.

"The prince has spoken," she murmured.

He touched her fingers for a moment with his, as if to seal their compact; then he turned once more to the lady upon his left.

Seyre House was one of the few mansions in London which boasted a banqueting-hall as well as a picture-gallery. Although the long table was laid for forty guests, it still seemed, with its shaded lights and its profusion of flowers, like an oasis of color in the middle of the huge, somberly lighted apartment. The penny ill.u.s.trated papers, whose contributors know more of the doings of London society than anybody else, always hinted in mysterious terms at the saturnalian character of the prince's supper parties. John, who had heard a few whispers beforehand, and whose interest in his surroundings was keen and intense, wondered whether this company of beautiful women and elegant men were indeed a modern revival of those wonderful creations of Boccaccio, to whom they had so often been likened.

Some of the faces of the guests were well known to him through their published photographs; to others he had been presented by the prince upon their arrival. He was seated between a young American star of musical comedy and a lady who had only recently dropped from the social firmament through the medium of the divorce-court, to return to the theater of her earlier fame. Both showed every desire to converse with him between the intervals of eating and drinking, but were constantly brought to a pause by John's lack of knowledge of current topics. After her third gla.s.s of champagne, the lady who had recently been a countess announced her intention of taking him under her wing.

"Some one must tell you all about things," she insisted. "What you need is a guide and a chaperon. Won't I do?"

"Perfectly," he agreed.

"Fair play!" protested the young lady on his left, whose name was Rosie Sharon. "I spoke to him first!"

"Jolly bad luck!" Lord Amerton drawled from the other side of the table.

"Neither of you have an earthly. He's booked. Saw him out with her the other evening."