"Not if you want to keep your thick skull weather-proof," was the sensible retort. "There's always discontent in Grimland, but there's a big sea running just now, and it isn't wise to fight the elements. Sit tight, my friend, and you'll live to see more exciting things than a noisy night at the Eden Music-Hall." The curtain was down again now, but the audience still roared for the re-appearance of their favourite, still clamoured for another verse of the intoxicating song. "Hullo! what's this?" cried Trafford. An attendant had edged her way up to Saunders, and was offering him a folded note on a tray. "_If you have any pleasant memories of the winter of 1904, come round to the stage door and ask for Fräulein Schmitt._" That was the purport of the note, and after reading it, Saunders handed it to Trafford. "Then it must be your lady friend, after all," maintained the latter, smiling at his friend. "It must indeed," acquiesced Saunders with a frown. "Come round with me now." "Why not go by yourself?" "Because I am a married man," replied Saunders, "and I want a chaperon." And together the two men left the still noisy house and made their way to the stage door. Under the guidance of a pale youth in a shabby pony coat, they entered a gloomy passage, ascended a steep flight of stone steps, and halted before a door, which had once been painted green. The pale one knocked, and a clear musical voice gave the necessary permission to enter. A naturally bare and ugly room had been rendered attractive by a big stove, several comfortable chairs, and an abundance of photographs, unframed sketches and artistic knick-knacks. It had been rendered still more attractive by the presence of a charming young lady, who was engaged--with the assistance of her dresser--in removing all traces of "make-up" from her comely lips and cheeks. The lady in question came forward with an air of pleasurable excitement, and smiling a warm welcome to the Englishman, cried: "So you _have_ come, Herr Saunders! You have not, then, altogether forgotten the winter of 1904?" Saunders took the small hand which had been extended to him and bowed low over it. "Heaven forbid, my dear Princess--or must I call you Fräulein Schmitt, now? No, indeed, so long as I have memory cells and the power to consult them, I shall never forget the winter of 1904. It gave me an angel for a wife, a king for a friend, and--must I say it--a princess for an enemy. That fierce enmity! It is by no means my least pleasurable remembrance. There was so much fun in it, such irresponsible laughter, that it all seems now more like the struggle of children for a toy castle than anything else." "Ah, but you forget that I lost a dear father and a loved brother in the struggle for that toy castle!" There was almost a life-time of sorrow in the young girl's voice. Again Saunders bent his head.