She was half curled up in a corner of the settee, her head resting slightly upon her long fingers, her brown eyes steadily fixed upon her companion. There was an atmosphere about her of serious yet of tender things. Dominey's face seemed to fall into more rigid lines as he realised the appeal of her eyes. “Leopold,” she began, “I left this country a few weeks ago, feeling that you were a brute, determined never to see you again, half inclined to expose you before I went as an impostor and a charlatan. Germany means little to me, and a patriotism which took no account of human obligations left me absolutely unresponsive. I meant to go home and never to return to London. My heart was bruised, and I was very unhappy.” She paused, but her companion made no sign. She paused for so long, however, that speech became necessary. “You are speaking, Princess,” he said calmly, “to one who is not present. My name is no longer Leopold.” She laughed at him with a curious mixture of tenderness and bitterness. “My friend,” she continued, “I am terrified to think, besides your name, how much of humanity you have lost in your new identity. To proceed it suited my convenience to remain for a few days in Berlin, and I was therefore compelled to present myself at Potsdam. There I received a great surprise. Wilhelm spoke to me of you, and though, alas! my heart is still bruised, he helped me to understand.” “Is this wise?” he asked a little desperately. She ignored his words. “I was taken back into favour at Court,” she went on. “For that I owe to you my thanks. Wilhelm was much impressed by your recent visit to him, and by the way in which you have established yourself here. He spoke also with warm commendation of your labours in Africa, which he seemed to appreciate all the more as you were sent there an exile. He asked me, Leopold,” she added, dropping her voice a little, “if my feelings towards you remained unchanged.” Dominey's face remained unrelaxed. Persistently he refused the challenge of her eyes. “I told him the truth,” she proceeded. “I told him how it all began, and how it must last with me--to the end. We spoke even of the duel. I told him what both your seconds had explained to me,--that turn of the wrist, Conrad's wild lunge, how he literally threw himself upon the point of your sword. Wilhelm understands and forgives, and he has sent you this letter.” She drew a small grey envelope from her pocket. On the seal were the Imperial Hohenzollern arms. She passed it to him. “Leopold,” she whispered, “please read that.” He shook his head, although he accepted the letter with reluctant fingers. “Read the superscription,” she directed. He obeyed her. It was addressed in a strange, straggling handwriting to _Sir Everard Dominey, Baronet_. He broke the seal unwillingly and drew out the letter. It was dated barely a fortnight back. There was neither beginning or ending; just a couple of sentences scrawled across the thick notepaper: