The sneer was probably meant for an ogle. Beauty has its annoyances as well as its compensations. As we came under the glare of the outside lights, Phyllis's hand tightened on my arm. "Look! there he is, and he is making for us." At the sight of that face with its hooked nose, its waxed mustache and imperial, I took a deep breath and held it. In the quick glance I saw that his right arm hung stiffly at his side. I attempted to slip into the crowd, but without success. He lifted his hat, smiling into the astonished face of Phyllis. "The Princess Hildegarde--" But with those three words the sentence on his lips came to an end. Amazement replaced the smile. He stepped back. Phyllis's eyes expressed scornful surprise. What she understood to be rudeness I knew to be a mistake. He had mistaken her to be Gretchen, just as I had mistaken Gretchen to be Phyllis. It was a situation which I enjoyed. All this was but momentary. We passed on. "Was the man crazy?" asked Phyllis, as we moved toward the carriages, where we saw Pembroke waving his hand. "Not exactly crazy," I answered. "The Princess Hildegarde; did he not call me that?" "He did." "He must have mistaken me for some one else, then." "The very thing," said I. "I wonder what he is doing here in London?" "Mercy! do you know him?" "Slightly." We were almost at the carriage. "I am sorry to say that he is a great personage in this very court which you are so soon to grace." "How strange! I'm afraid we shan't get on." Pembroke and I dismissed our carriage. We were going back to the club. Ethel and her husband were already seated in their carriage. Said Phyllis as I assisted her to enter; "And who is this Princess Hildegarde?" "The most beautiful woman in all the world," I answered with enthusiasm. "You will meet her also." "I do not believe I shall like her either," said Phyllis. "Good night;" and the door swung to. Pembroke and I made off for the club. . . . Perhaps it was my enthusiasm. CHAPTER XVII I had just left the office when I ran into Pembroke, who was in the act of mounting the stairs. It was Saturday morning. Phyllis had left town. "Hello!" he cried. "A moment more, and I should have missed you, and then you would not have learned a piece of news." "News?" "Yes. I have made up my mind not to go home till February." "What changed your plans so suddenly?" I asked. "My conscience." "In heaven's name, what has your conscience to do with your plans?" "Well, you see, my conscience would not permit me to meet such a remarkable woman as Miss Landors without becoming better acquainted with her." He swung his cane back and forth. "This is very sudden," said I, lighting a cigar. "When did it happen?" "What time did she come into your office the other day?" "It must have been after eleven." "Then it happened about eleven-fifteen." Pembroke's eyes were dancing. "Do you--er--think there are any others?"