“I have known you,” the Ambassador said quietly, “since you were a baby. Every member of your family has been a friend of mine. You come of a silent race. I know very well that you are a person of discretion. There are certain small ways in which a government can occasionally be served by the help of some one outside its diplomatic service altogether, some one who could not possibly be connected with it. You know this very well, Penelope, because you have already been of service to us on more than one occasion.” “It was a long time ago,” she murmured. “Not so very long,” he reminded her. “But for the first of these tragedies, Fynes’ despatches would have reached me through you. I am going to ask your help even once more.” In the somewhat cold spring sunlight which came streaming through the large window, Penelope seemed a little pallid, as though, indeed, the fatigue of the season, even in this its earlier stages, were leaving its mark upon her. There were violet rims under her eyes. A certain alertness seemed to have deserted her usually piquant face. She sat listening with the air of one half afraid, who has no hope of hearing pleasant things. “It has been remarked,” Mr. Harvey continued, “or rather I may say that I myself have noticed, that you are on exceedingly friendly terms with a very distinguished nobleman who is at present visiting this country--I mean, of course, Prince Maiyo.” Her eyebrows were slowly elevated. Was that really the impression people had! Her lips just moved. “Well?” she asked. “I have met Prince Maiyo myself,” Mr. Harvey continued, “and I have found him a charming representative of his race. I am not going to say a word against him. If he were an American, we should be proud of him. If he belonged to any other country, we should accept him at once for what he appears to be. Unfortunately, however, he belongs to a country which we have some reason to mistrust. He belongs to a country in whose national character we have not absolute confidence. For that reason, my dear Penelope, we mistrust Prince Maiyo.” “I do not know him so well as you seem to imagine,” Penelope said slowly. “We are not even friends, in the ordinary acceptation of the word. I am, to some extent, prejudiced against him. Yet I do not believe that he is capable of a dishonorable action.” “Nor do I,” the Ambassador declared smoothly. “Yet in every country, almost in every man, the exact standard of dishonor varies. A man will lie for a woman’s sake, and even in the law courts, certainly at his clubs and amongst his friends, it will be accounted to his righteousness. A patriot will lie and intrigue for his country’s sake. Now I believe that to Prince Maiyo Japan stands far above the whole world of womankind. I believe that for her sake he would go to very great lengths indeed.” “Go on, please,” Penelope murmured.