"I did not mean to probe into your secrets, darling," the Princess exclaimed hastily. "I promised you I never would when you came to me that November in Rome--we were both miserable enough, goodness knows! We made the bargain that there should be no retrospects. And your angelic goodness to me all that time when my little Girolamo was born, have made me your eternal debtor. Why, but for you, darling, he might have been snatched from me by the hateful Torniloni family!" "The sweet cherub!" Then their conversation turned to this absorbing topic, the perfections of Girolamo! and as it is hardly one which could interest you or me, my friend, let us go back to the smoking-room and listen to a conversation going on between Cranley Beaton and Lord Fordyce. The latter, with great skill, had begun to elicit certain information he desired from this society register! "Yes, indeed," Mr. Beaton was saying. "She is a peach--The husband"--and he looked extremely wise. "Oh! she made some frightful mesalliance out West, and they say he's shut in a madhouse or home for inebriates. Her entrance among us dates from when she first appeared in Paris, about three years ago, with Princess Torniloni. She is awfully rich and awfully good, and it is a real pity she does not divorce the ruffian and begin again!" "She is not free, then?" and Lord Fordyce felt his heart sink. "I thought, probably, she had got rid of any encumbrance, as it is fairly easy over with you." "Why, she could in a moment if she wanted to, I expect," Mr. Beaton assured his listener. "She hasn't fancied anyone else yet; when she does, she will, no doubt." "Her husband is an American, then?" "Why, of course--didn't I tell you she came from the West? Why, I remember crossing with her. She was in deep mourning--in the summer of 1908. She never spoke to anyone on board, and it was about eighteen months after that I was presented to her in Paris. She gets prettier every day." Lord Fordyce felt this was true. "So she could be free if she fancied anyone, you think?" he hazarded casually, as though his interest in the subject had waned--and when Mr. Beaton had answered, "Yes--rather," Lord Fordyce got up and sauntered off toward bed. "One has to be up so early in the morning, here," he remarked agreeably. "See you to-morrow at the Schlossbrunn?--Good-night!" CHAPTER VII