There is an inner annex to the Bar at the Sporting Club, at either end of which a discreet flirtation is entirely in order. Grant, wandering in for a whiskey and soda towards midnight, was suddenly transfixed by the sight of Gertrude and Arthur, their heads very close together, the young man’s air of devotion unmistakable. He watched them with a deepening frown. Suddenly he felt a touch upon his arm. Susan stood by his side. Her voice was as gay as usual, but she was pale and a little tired.

“Disgraceful, isn’t it?” she exclaimed. “We’re absolutely deserted. I’m afraid Arthur’s lost his head altogether.”

“He’s a fool!” Grant declared.

She looked at him a little wistfully.

“Do you mind so much?”

“I mind because—”

He broke off in his sentence. After all, his peculiar knowledge of Gertrude was better kept to himself for the present.

“Well, I don’t like to see him make a fool of himself,” he concluded a little awkwardly. “The Princess is a married woman and has a jealous husband. She is also a hardened flirt.”

“We thought of going on directly,” she announced. “What ought we to do about Arthur?”

“I’ll go and tell him as soon as you’re ready,” Grant offered.

“We’re all here now. Rose and Tommy are outside, and Bobby’s gone for his coat. We’ve had to forgive him. He’s so terribly penitent. We’ve four without him if you like. I suppose you could look after me with an effort,” she added, looking up at him.

“Of course I could, but we ought to let him know we’re going,” Grant decided. “I’ll step across and tell him.”

Susan turned towards the cloak room, and Grant made his way towards the two people whom they had been discussing. Gertrude welcomed him with a smile, half challenging, half provocative. Her companion was inclined to be querulous.

“Lady Susan wants to know whether you’re coming along with us, Lymane?” Grant said. “We’re all quite ready.”

The young man glanced at the clock.

“Much too early,” he grumbled. “There’ll be no one there before one o’clock.”

“The others seem to wish to go.”

“Well, there are four of you,” Lymane pointed out. “I’ll come along presently.”

“I think you’d better come with us,” Grant persisted. “That is, if the Princess will spare you.”

“But I will not spare him,” she laughed. “I like him very much. He says much nicer things to me than you do and I do not see why you should hurry him away, just as we are getting on so nicely.”

“Neither do I,” Lymane agreed. “Make my excuses, there’s a good chap. I’ll come along within half an hour or so. Lady Susan is in your charge, anyway, not mine. I’m the odd man out.”

Grant turned away with the slightest of bows. He found the little party waiting for him downstairs, reinforced by the advent of another young man, a friend of the Lancasters.

“Arthur is hopelessly enslaved,” Grant announced. “The beautiful Princess has him in her clutches. He says he’ll come along presently. I should doubt whether we see him again this evening.”

“It doesn’t really matter whether we do or not,” Susan remarked, as she stepped into the car, by Grant’s side. “That nice Wheeler boy who plays tennis so well is coming along, so we shall get all the dancing we want. Are you going to dance with me. Grant? And why do you look so cross?”

“I’m not really cross,” he assured her, “but Arthur, when he likes, can be such a hopeless young ass. Anyway, I’ll get the first dance with you.”

They glided across the square, past the gardens and into the quiet street on the right-hand side. They entered the restaurant to the strains of modified jazz music, ordered champagne and sandwiches and sat down at a round table.

“You do dance well, you know, Grant,” Susan told him after their second turn.

“You’re rather wonderful yourself after eight sets of tennis,” he observed. “Is it my fancy or are you a little pale?”

“I did feel tired a little time ago,” she admitted. “It’s passed of? now, though. What a shame one of you have to sit out.”

“Bobby isn’t going to sit out long,” he pointed out. “Young rascal!”

They watched the young man lead away one of the professional danseuses. Susan laughed heartily.

“Just like Bobby,” she declared. “He can’t dance for nuts. If he wanted to dance with a professional though, I wonder why on earth he didn’t choose the little one at the next table to us.”

Grant glanced at the girl whom his companion had indicated, at first carelessly, but afterwards with genuine interest. She was seated at a small round table close to their own,—dark, pale, almost sallow, with rather narrow eyes of a deep brown shade, silky eyebrows and eyelashes, and black hair in which, as she moved her head to the music, there seemed to be a gleam of wine colour. She was plainly dressed in a black taffeta gown and she wore no jewellery of any sort. There was something about her expression peculiarly inscrutable and yet Grant fancied that as his eyes met hers she intended in some mysterious way to let him know that she had observed his interest.

“What a quaint creature,” he observed. “I wonder who she is?”

“She’s one of the professional dancers,” Susan told him. “She was here on Monday, and when we were here the week before. She was dancing all the time with the Japanese Count then, the young man who does the interpreting at Nice. Look at Bobby being taught new steps; isn’t he priceless?”

The evening wore on in the usual way. The little party danced incessantly, drank a moderate quantity of champagne and a great many orangeades, and watched the throng of people with a certain amount of interest. Suddenly Susan touched Grant on the arm.

“A tragedy!” she whispered. “Look at the dark young woman’s face. Her Japanese Count has just come in with another woman.”

Grant turned around and was just in time to catch an expression on the girl’s face which, for a moment, almost shocked him. The slightly scornful air of inscrutability was gone, the lips had parted, there was a gleam of white teeth, her eyes had narrowed almost into slits, and her eyebrows had drawn closer together. It was all over in a moment, so quickly indeed that Grant wondered whether it had really been murder that he had seen there. She even glanced across the room and nodded carelessly at the young man and the girl, a danseuse from a neighbouring café. Grant exchanged a questioning glance with Susan.

“Do you know,” he said, “it seemed to me, for a moment, that she was going to play the virago.”

“She looked like a little fiend,” Susan replied. “Bother, here comes Arthur. I suppose I shall have to dance this with him.”

Lymane came in, full of apologies. He was a little absorbed in manner and he took the chaff to which he was subjected in a somewhat spiritless fashion.

“Don’t see what any one’s got against me,” he remarked, as he helped himself to a glass of wine. “You’re a man over, already. What about this dance, Lady Susan?”

“The next,” she answered, waving him away. “After that, you, please. Grant.”

Grant and Arthur Lymane were left alone. At the adjoining table the dark girl with the inscrutable face was smoking cigarettes and drinking tea, glancing occasionally towards them.

“Lymane,” his companion said. “May I take a liberty with you?”

“Go ahead.”

“I don’t think you’re altogether wise to cultivate your acquaintance with the Princess von Diss.”

“Why the devil not?” the young man demanded.

“If you’re going to take it like that, there’s no more to be said about it. Sorry I interfered.”

“You’d better tell me what you mean, anyway.”

“Mine is simply the obvious point of view,” Grant explained. “You are the private secretary of the Prime Minister of your country, who is also President of the Pact of Nations. I do not think that I would become too intimate or be seen too much in public with the wife of a German statesman of Von Diss’s known proclivities.”

Lymane lit a cigarette with trembling fingers.

“You’re out of your mind, Slattery,” he declared.

“Perhaps,” was the quiet rejoinder. “The advice I have offered you is for your own good.”

“The usual cant,” the young man sneered. “Why you might have been born thirty years ago. What’s the difference between Germany and the other nations? What’s the Pact done, I should like to know, if it hasn’t brought them all into a group? You seem to be harking back to the primeval days when German spies and adventurous princesses were the stock in trade of the sensational novelist.”

“Such people may still exist,” Grant persisted.

“Rubbish! What is there to spy about? They’re all making a fuss over at Nice, but I’ve come to the conclusion that it doesn’t amount to anything. You’re a bit of an alarmist, I know, Slattery, but I’m not. In any case, to take exception to my friendship with the Princess simply because you yourself have had a misunderstanding with her is neither more nor less than ridiculous.”

Grant looked at his companion curiously.

“I am sorry you take it like that,” he said. “I will admit that I hold a somewhat gloomy view of the international situation just now, but you are wrong when you suggest that I have had any sort of a misunderstanding with the Princess.”

“At any rate. Von Diss is not a particular friend of yours, is he?” the young man asked meaningly.

Grant rose to his feet.

“Look here, Lymane,” he protested, “there are limits to the disagreeable things you may say to me. I think—”

It was one of those happenings which Grant could never explain, even to himself. He rose to his feet simply with the intention of leaving his companion for a moment or two. As he did so, unseen to him, the girl at the next table rose also. She held up her arms quite naturally, without saying a word, without even looking directly towards him. No word of invitation passed from either one to the other. When, afterwards, Grant asked himself how that dance had come about, he could only surmise that the girl had willed it.