Grey Stuart's exclamatory question was drawn from her as she, like the Resident, watched the way in which the Princess continued to receive her guests. Grey, in obedience to the Inche Maida's request, and remained with the Resident close by, where they had an excellent view of what was taking place, and as, rather flattered by her reception, Grey looked on, a pang shot through her breast, as she saw that almost the next couple to advance were Captain Hilton and Helen Perowne, the former looking flushed and happy as he walked proudly forward with his handsome companion upon his arm; the latter with her red lip slightly curled and her eyelashes half shading her large eyes, as she seemed to be superciliously, and with a contemptuous air, smiling at the people she looked upon as far beneath her and hardly worthy of her consideration. As the Princess saw them approach--the most goodly couple of the company--her eyes seemed to dart a furious flash at Hilton, and then to become fixed and hard as her features, as she encountered the supercilious gaze of Helen Perowne. For a brief space she paused, as if too angry to continue her task. The pause was but momentary: for, apparently making an effort over herself, she received Helen Perowne with a grave, almost majestic courtesy, taking a bouquet from an attendant and handing it to her with a slight inclination of the head; while Helen Perowne made her the deportment curtsey that she had been taught at the Miss Twettenhams', throwing into it the dignity of a queen. "Enemies!" said the Resident to himself. "Strange how women read each other's thoughts!" The Princess darted a quick, reproachful glance at Hilton, and then the couple passed to the other side of the hostess as others advanced, and the Resident made his comment upon the Princess, while Grey Stuart exclaimed, in an eager whisper: "Oh! Mr Harley, what does all this mean?" "Another diplomatic complication apparently, my dear child," he said. "Why, you and I ought to be very happy and contented to feel that we are not of an inflammable nature and are heart-whole." "But, Mr Harley," said Grey Stuart, colouring slightly, "I do not understand it." "And you will not give me time to explain," he said laughingly. "Perhaps I am wrong, but it seems to me that just as we have comfortably got over the little piece of incendiarism done upon the Rajah Murad's heart by the lightning of Helen Perowne's eyes, the Inche Maida has singed her tawny wings in the light of the handsome brown optics of Master Hilton." "Oh! but, Mr Harley," said the girl, hoarsely, "you don't think that--" "She has taken a fancy to him?" said the Resident, quickly. "Indeed, my dear, but I do." "I--I did not mean that," faltered Grey. "I meant, do you think--he had trifled with the Princess?"