To Usk himself these favours, thus publicly conferred, were the reverse of delightful. His hospitable soul was wounded by the treatment meted out to the guest, and he could not help feeling that it was bad form in Félicia to emphasise his own happier position at every opportunity. When he ventured to remonstrate, however, his only reward was a severe snubbing in private, for Félicia was not to be turned from her prey. Lord Cyril, to whom Lady Caerleon appealed in distress, laughed at the whole thing, and declared that Félicia’s scorn was the best possible tonic for his stepson. To have met her would be a liberal education for him, provided she continued the treatment to the end of his visit, and did not soften towards him for a moment. But there was no need for her to do this. It was enough for King Michael to notice the difference in her manner when she turned to Usk. When a rarely beautiful woman treats one man to nothing but gibes, and lavishes tenderness upon another who looks rather uncomfortable under the process, it is not in human nature not to wish to be in the other man’s place for once. Maimie had been watching eagerly for the King to reach this point, but here she found herself at a standstill. All this time she had been cultivating the acquaintance of the aide-de-camp, Captain Andreivics, who had accompanied King Michael, and was introduced as his “friend.” She had picked his brains to such good purpose that she knew as much as he did of the King’s circumstances, and had gone far beyond him in the deductions she drew. He could not tell her exactly how the long hours were spent when the King and his stepfather were closeted every morning with vast piles of papers, but she knew. She could picture Cyril exposing pitilessly the extravagance, laxity, and corruption which had spread through every department of State since he had left Thracia, and indicating reforms and economies which would put matters straight if the present crisis could be tided over, but performing no miracle to provide the money urgently needed at the moment. It was from the aide-de-camp, however, that she heard how one morning the King dashed away the papers with the pettish remark, “Really, Count, your brain seems as strong as ever for all these absurd trivialities. Why is it that you refuse to return to Thracia and get me out of my difficulty?” and how the incisive answer flashed forth, “If my brain was as strong as ever, sir, I should not be busy with these trivialities. I should be holding the balance of power in Europe.” She knew that both Cyril and the King had reluctantly come to the conclusion that, failing the much-needed miracle, there was only one thing to be done. The King must journey homewards by way of the Riviera, where the Scythian Princess who had been proposed for his acceptance was sojourning. There was a bare hope that his apparent intention of falling in with the arrangement suggested by Scythia