‘I--er--inquired about you,’ he said, with equal candour and humility. ‘In spite of the fact that you never hoped to see me again?’ ‘Yes, in spite of that.’ ‘How funny!’ she said, and lapsed into a meditative silence. ‘Yours must be a wonderful existence,’ said the Prince. ‘I envy you.’ ‘You envy me--what? My father’s wealth?’ ‘No,’ he said; ‘your freedom and your responsibilities.’ ‘I have no responsibilities,’ she remarked. ‘Pardon me,’ he said; ‘you have, and the time is coming when you will feel them.’ ‘I’m only a girl,’ she murmured with sudden simplicity. ‘As for you, Count, surely you have sufficient responsibilities of your own?’ ‘I?’ he said sadly. ‘I have no responsibilities. I am a nobody--a Serene Highness who has to pretend to be very important, always taking immense care never to do anything that a Serene Highness ought not to do. Bah!’ ‘But if your nephew, Prince Eugen, were to die, would you not come to the throne, and would you not then have these responsibilities which you so much desire?’ ‘Eugen die?’ said Prince Aribert, in a curious tone. ‘Impossible. He is the perfection of health. In three months he will be married. No, I shall never be anything but a Serene Highness, the most despicable of God’s creatures.’ ‘But what about the State secret which you mentioned? Is not that a responsibility?’ ‘Ah!’ he said. ‘That is over. That belongs to the past. It was an accident in my dull career. I shall never be Count Steenbock again.’ ‘Who knows?’ she said. ‘By the way, is not Prince Eugen coming here to- day? Mr Dimmock told us so.’ ‘See!’ answered the Prince, standing up and bending over her. ‘I am going to confide in you. I don’t know why, but I am.’ ‘Don’t betray State secrets,’ she warned him, smiling into his face. But just then the door of the room was unceremoniously opened. ‘Go right in,’ said a voice sharply. It was Theodore Racksole’s. Two men entered, bearing a prone form on a stretcher, and Racksole followed them. Nella sprang up. Racksole stared to see his daughter. ‘I didn’t know you were in here, Nell. Here,’ to the two men, ‘out again.’ ‘Why!’ exclaimed Nella, gazing fearfully at the form on the stretcher, ‘it’s Mr Dimmock!’ ‘It is,’ her father acquiesced. ‘He’s dead,’ he added laconically. ‘I’d have broken it to you more gently had I known. Your pardon, Prince.’ There was a pause. ‘Dimmock dead!’ Prince Aribert whispered under his breath, and he kneeled down by the side of the stretcher. ‘What does this mean?’ The poor fellow was just walking across the quadrangle towards the portico when he fell down. A commissionaire who saw him says he was walking very quickly. At first I thought it was sunstroke, but it couldn’t have been, though the weather certainly is rather warm. It must be heart disease. But anyhow, he’s dead. We did what we could. I’ve sent for a doctor, and for the police. I suppose there’ll have to be an inquest.’