Miss Merton sprang up and walked towards the door. Her pretty face was distorted with anger. "I do not want your carriage," she said. "I am leaving the house, but I will walk." "Just as you choose, if you only go," Helène murmured. She was already at the door, but she turned back. "I can't help it!" she exclaimed. "I've got to ask you a question. Has Lord Wolfenden asked you to marry him?" Helène was disgusted, but she was not hard-hearted. The girl was evidently distressed--it never occurred to her that she might not be in earnest. She herself could not understand such a lack of self-respect. A single gleam of pity mingled with her contempt. "I am not at liberty to answer your question," she said coldly, "as it concerns Lord Wolfenden as well as myself. But I have no objection to telling you this. I am the Princess Helène of Bourbon, and I am betrothed to my cousin, Prince Henri of Ortrens! So you see that I am not likely to marry Lord Wolfenden! Now, please, go away at once!" Miss Merton obeyed. She left the room literally speechless. Helène rang the bell. "If that young person--Miss Merton I think her name is--attempts to see me again before I leave, be sure that she is not admitted," she told the servant. The man bowed and left the room. Helène was left alone. She sank into an easy chair by the fire and leaned her head upon her hand. Her self-control was easy and magnificent, but now that she was alone her face had softened. The proud, little mouth was quivering. A feeling of uneasiness, of utter depression stole over her. Tears stood for a moment in her eyes but she brushed them fiercely away. "How could he have dared?" she murmured. "I wish that I were a man! After all, then, it must be--ambition!" CHAPTER XXXV A LITTLE GAME OF CARDS Mr. Sabin, whose carriage had set him down at the Cromer railway station with barely two minutes to spare, took his seat in an empty first-class smoking carriage of the London train and deliberately lit a fine cigar. He was filled with that sense of triumphant self-satisfaction which falls to the lot of a man who, after much arduous labour successfully accomplished, sees very near at hand the great desire of his life. Two days' more quiet work, and his task was done. All that he had pledged himself to give, he would have ready for the offering. The finishing touches were but a matter of detail. It had been a great undertaking--more difficult at times than he had ever reckoned for. He told himself with some complacency that no other man breathing could have brought it to so satisfactory a conclusion. His had been a life of great endeavours; this one, however, was the crowning triumph of his career.