Sylvia was silent; she was thinking of once long ago when Lily had asked her if she could dance with Michael; now she blushed after nine years lest he might have thought for a moment what that woman had said. "You're quite right," she agreed with Philidor. "This is a damnable life. Would you like to hear Queenie's story?" "There's no need for you to defend yourself to me," he laughed. "Ah, don't laugh about it. You mustn't laugh about certain things. You'll make me think less of you." "I was only being _gauche_," he apologized. "Yes, tell me her story." So Sylvia told him the sad history, and when she had finished asked his advice about Queenie. "You were talking just now about your country as if she were a child," she said, eagerly. "You were imagining her individuality and independence destroyed. I feel the same about this girl. I want to make her really English. Do you think that I shall be able to get her a passport? We're saving up our money now to go to England." Philidor said he did not know much about English regulations, but that he could not imagine that any consul would refuse to help when he heard the story. "And the sooner you leave Rumania the better. Look here. I'll lend you the money to get home." Sylvia shook her head. "No, because that would interfere with my part of the story. I've got to get back without help. I have a strong belief that if I accept help I shall miss my destiny. It's no good trying to argue me out of a superstition, for I've tried to argue myself out of it a dozen times and failed. No, if you want to help me, come and talk to me every night and open a bottle or two of champagne to keep the manager in a good temper; and stand by me if there's ever a row. I won't answer for myself if I'm alone and I hear things said like what was said to-night." Philidor promised he would do that for her as long as he was quartered in Bucharest, and presently Queenie came back. "Don't look so frightened. I'm sorry I was cross to you just now." "You were being so savage," said Queenie, with wide-open, wondering eyes. "What was happening?" "Something stung me." "Where?" "Over the heart," Sylvia answered. When they were back in their room Queenie returned to the subject of Sylvia's ill-temper. "I could not be thinking it was you," she murmured. "I could not be thinking it." "It was something that passed as quickly as it came," Sylvia said. "Forget about it, child." "Were you angry because I was being too much with that boy? If you like, I shall say to him to-morrow that I cannot dance with him longer." "Please, Queenie, forget about it. Somebody said something that made me angry, and I vented my anger on you. It was of no importance."