“Oh, no!” cried Philippa again. Then, her honest heart fearing that the negative might convey a false impression, she added, in an agony of blushes, “It isn’t fair--it is very unkind of you to ask, because he has never said anything, but there is some one.” “Thank you. That was all I wanted to know,” said the King. He lifted Philippa’s reluctant hand and kissed it, then took his leave gravely. “Why, he is a man after all!” said Philippa to herself, as he went down the steps. She was too miserable to rise and look after him, or she would have seen him stop in crossing the court, and address Mansfield, who was driving the gold-fish to distraction by throwing pebbles into the fountain. Wild horses could not have dragged Mansfield from the hotel that morning. He had been bearing from the Chevalier of the duties and emoluments of his new post, but his interest had been so languid that the financier was half offended, and had taken his departure without giving him an invitation to accompany him to Jerusalem, as he had intended. It was a relief to Mansfield to see him go, for he had only one wish, to be left alone. Philippa was to make her decision to-day, and he must know the worst. As he sat upon the edge of the fountain, and took half-hearted shots at the gold-fish, he became aware that King Michael was approaching him, had paused beside him. To triumph over his discomfiture, of course! thought Mansfield, and refused to turn his head and look at his rival. “Mr Mansfield,” said the King, “I yield in your favour the match at billiards which we were to decide this evening. It was foolish of me to contest the point, for your success was never in doubt. Only,” his tone was so significant that Mansfield glanced up in spite of himself, “let me advise you never again to throw down your cue in disgust before the end. It is not fair to--the game.” Their eyes met, and Mansfield read the meaning which underlay the words. “You are a good fellow!” he said hastily. “I ought to have known that your mother’s son couldn’t be a cad.” “Allow me to thank you in my mother’s name,” and King Michael went on his way, lighting a cigarette with a hand which did not shake more than a very little. Mansfield watched him out of sight, then, waking as if from a dream, mounted the staircase four or five steps at a time, and presented himself suddenly before Philippa. “I’ve been a regular beast, Lady Phil,” he cried. “Forgive me.” Philippa raised a tear-stained face with a little start. “Oh!” she said, “it’s you!” “You do forgive me, don’t you?” persisted Mansfield. “But what has it to do with me?” Philippa was on the defensive again. “I thought you were going to marry the King.” “But what has that to do with you?” with the faintest suspicion of a smile about the corners of the mouth. “It’s because I love you. Oh, Phil, you know it, you have known it for a long time. It nearly drove me mad to think I had lost you.”