Suddenly a dreadful thought occurred to him. When she came through those doors, what would be the effect of his presence upon her? Would not the sudden shock, joyful though it was, upset the fragile little beauty? Had he not even heard of people dying from joy? Why had he not prepared her for his return, if only to the tiniest extent? The suspicion that he lacked worldly wisdom gained in force. Tumultuous suggestions of retreat crossed his mind--but before he could move, the folding-doors in the mirror flew apart, and a radiant image dashed lightly through them. It was a vision of dazzling splendour that made his eyes blink--a beautiful glittering figure in tights and tinsel, the prancing prince of pantomime. For an infinitesimal fraction of a second, Frank had the horror of the thought that he had come into the wrong house. "Good evening, George," the Prince cried: "I had almost given you up." Great God! Was the voice, indeed, Lucy's? Frank grasped at the mantel, sick and blind, the world tumbling about his ears. The suspicion that he lacked worldly wisdom became a certainty. Slowly he turned his head to face the waves of dazzling colour that tossed before his dizzy eyes. The Prince's outstretched hand dropped suddenly. A startled shriek broke from the painted lips. The re-united lovers stood staring half blindly at each other. More than the Atlantic rolled between them. Lucy broke the terrible silence. "Brute!" It was his welcome home. "Brute?" he echoed interrogatively, in a low, hoarse whisper. "Brute and cad!" said the Prince vehemently, the musical tones strident with anger. "Is this your faith, your loyalty--to sneak back home like a thief--to peep through the keyhole to see if I was a good little girl--?" "Lucy! Don't!" he interrupted in anguished tones. "As there is a heaven above us, I had no suspicion--" "But you have now," the Prince interrupted with a bitter laugh. Neither made any attempt to touch the other, though they were but a few inches apart. "Out with it!" "Lucy, I have nothing to say against you. How should I? I know nothing. It is for you to speak. For pity's sake tell me all. What is this masquerade?" "This masquerade?" She touched her pink tights--he shuddered at the touch. "These are--" She paused. Why not tell the easy lie and be done with the whole business, and marry the dear, devoted boy? But the mad instinct of revolt and resentment swept over her in a flood that dragged the truth from her heart and hurled it at him. "These are the legs of Prince Prettypet. If I am lucky, I shall stand on them in the pantomime of _The Enchanted Princess; or, Harlequin Dick Turpin_, at the Oriental Theatre. The man who has the casting of the part is coming to see how I look." "You have gone on the stage?"