It was with some misgivings that Usk followed her to the _salon_, which was full of people, of a type with which he had not hitherto had much acquaintance. The ladies were mostly Americans, either sojourning in Europe without their husbands, like Mrs van Zyl, or married to Continental noblemen of various nationalities. There was a sprinkling of these gentlemen present, but most of the men were unencumbered by domestic ties, and purely cosmopolitan, the product of the modern health resort. Originally French, Brazilian, or Hungarian by race, they had travelled so much in search of sport or distraction that the whole civilised world was equally dull to them, and the only place which was still able to kindle a spark of excitement in their breasts was Monte Carlo. With them the talk was of the tables or of pigeon-shooting, while the ladies preferred generally to discuss flowers and fancy dresses. Lent fell late this year, so that although it was the middle of March, the last days of the Carnival were still to come, and every one was on the alert to discover what her neighbour was going to wear. Usk left the villa before any of the other guests, meeting King Michael on the threshold as he did so. The two young men eyed one another with unfriendly glances. Each resented the other’s presence, without having the right to object to it; but Usk noticed uneasily that the King walked straight into the hall, and that Maimie, looking more eager and anxious than ever, in a sprightly black-and-white gown, fluttered out to meet him, and took him into the little boudoir whither he himself had been conducted only an hour before. His uncle’s words recurred to him, but he set his teeth. “She has asked me to trust her, and I will--I do,” he repeated. It was natural, perhaps, that Cyril should not be so ready to accept this view of the case. When Usk entered the _appartement_ at the Hôtel des Rois, which had been taken in the names of Lord and Lady Cyril Mortimer, he was met by the secretary Paschics, who said that his uncle wished to see him as soon as he came in. Usk was not at all anxious to see his uncle, and his misgivings returned sharply upon him as he sought him on the balcony of their sitting-room. “Well, have you had any talk with Félicia?” asked Cyril. “Just a little. I only had her to myself for a minute or two.” “And is she willing to have the engagement announced?” “Well, no; not just yet. She has got some idea that it would prejudice her claim if it was known.” “Then you have broken it off?” “Rather not. I have agreed to keep it private a little longer.” “In fact,” said Cyril, with slow scorn, “you set out to end an anomalous state of things, and then agree to perpetuate it. You bind yourself and leave her free, though it’s perfectly clear that she is merely keeping you on as a last resource in case she loses Michael.” “It’s nothing of the kind,” said Usk. “She has no thought of Michael--she told me so herself.”