"Of course it could. But it's ten times more convenient for me here. And it's very considerate of Georgie to come all this way--he's a very busy man, I can tell you." The street-door slammed loudly. A sudden paroxysm shook Frank's frame. "Lucy, send this man away--for God's sake." In his excitement he came nearer, he laid his hand pleadingly upon the glittering shoulder. The Prince trembled a little under his touch, and stood as in silent hesitancy. The stairs creaked under heavy footsteps. "Go to your room," he said more imperatively. Even in the wreck of his ideal, it was an added bitterness to think that limbs whose shapeliness had never even occurred to him, should be made a public spectacle. "Put on decent clothes." It was the wrong chord to touch. The Prince burst into a boisterous laugh. "Silly old MacDougall!" The footsteps were painfully near. "You are mad," Frank whispered hoarsely. "You are killing me--you whom I throned as an angel of light; you who were the first woman in the world--" "And now I'm going to be the Principal Boy," she laughed quietly back. "Is that you, dear old chap? Come in, George." The door opened--Frank, disgusted, heart-broken, moved back towards the window-curtains. A corpulent, beef-faced, double-chinned man, with a fat cigar and a fur overcoat, came in. "How do, Lucy? Cold, eh? What, in your togs? That's right." "There, you bad man! Don't I look ripping?" "Stunning, Lucy," he said, approaching her. "Well, then, down on your knees, George, and apologise for saying I was too little." "Well, I see more of you now, he! he! he! Yes, you'll do. What swell diggings!" "Come to the fire. Take that easy-chair. There, that's right, old man. Now, what is it to be? There's tea laid--you've let it get cold, unpunctual ruffian. Perhaps you'd like a brandy and soda better?" "M' yes." She rang the bell. "So glad--because there's only tea for two, and I know my friend would prefer tea," with a sneering intonation. "Let me introduce you--Mr. Redhill, Mr. Spanner, you have heard of Mr. Spanner, the celebrated author and stage-manager?" The celebrated author and stage-manager half rose in his easy-chair, startled, and not over-pleased. The pale-faced rival visitor, half hidden in the curtains, inclined his head stiffly, then moved towards the door. "Oh, no, don't run away like that, without a cup of tea, in this bitter weather. Mr. Spanner won't mind talking business before you, will you, George? Such a dear old friend, you know."