"No; I had the chance, but dodged it. I thought it none of his Highness's business." "Merci," murmured the other. "Speaking of Dodging it," put in Gwendolen; "where is your secretary?" "He got a 'chit' from the Spanish Legation, and asked for an hour's leave of absence." "That fat Carmen Gil y Niestra," puffed Mrs. Todd. (Mrs. Todd's own weight was over the two hundred mark, yet she was scathing in her scorn of avoirdupois in another.) "These European women are shameless in the way they run after men. She's shadowing Dodge now. I wonder what she can want of him." The good lady applied herself with renewed diligence to her robe. Gwendolen studied the stucco-work of the ceiling. In the somewhat strained silence Pierre rose. Mr. Todd was close to him. He put a hand affectionately on the boy's shoulder, and looked down into his face. Pierre, in spite of efforts for self-control, shrank back, his lips quivering with a prescience of new pain. Gwendolen ran to his defence. "We know what you are going to say. It has been spoken already. Spare us, dad. We are all upset this morning, and when one is upset good advice is an insult. I challenge you to a set at tennis, Pierre. Come, come, the court is perfect, though the skies be gray." Pierre turned eagerly. "Capital, nothing could be better. But my costume,--I have not the necessary flannels, shoes--" He looked himself over in concern. "You have your legs and arms, I presume," said Gwendolen, dryly. Catching up the rackets and a box of balls, she hurried out, leaving the glass door open. "Shut the door, Pierre," called Mrs. Todd. Todd watched the slim young figure as he went. Faithful to Mrs. Todd's admonition, he closed the panel with the greatest care, rattling the knob to show that the latch had caught. Mr. Todd sighed. "I wish that door opened into France, and that I held a St. Peter's key to it," he murmured, as if to himself. Mrs. Todd wondered above the robe. "What's that pretty thing you're making?" asked her spouse, quickly. "A piano cover? Gwendolen ought to play a regular 'Streets of Cairo' potpourri under that. Aren't you afraid the old priest's ghost will haunt you?" "You do talk such nonsense for a grown-up, intelligent man," reproved his dame, but her lips and her eyes smiled. "Those are the times when I make my most sensible remarks," said he, in return. "I suppose you know," retorted his Susan, with doubt in her voice. CHAPTER FOURTEEN Returning home from the princely banquet side by side in the double jinrikisha, not a word had been spoken between Tetsujo Onda and his child. The master went at once into his little study, banging shoji and fusuma close around him. Yuki, forcing back her sad thoughts, related to her mother and the eager servants an account of the many beautiful dishes at the feast. For their amusement she even told a few of the queer foreign mistakes. Some of these were received by Maru San in gasping horror.