But there was a feeling of obsession in the air--a sense as if something momentous was about to happen. Whispered rumours, more or less conflicting, were afloat, yet nothing definite was known. On the other hand, idle, far-stretched gossip was rife and was even growing in extravagance as the evening wore on. No one had been present on the terrace to witness the little incident which occurred there earlier in the afternoon save the three distinguished actors in the brief comedy scene. Obviously from them nothing could be gleaned. The Queen and the Cardinal would not be like to enlighten the curious, whilst the Duke of Wessex, at all times reserved and unapproachable, could not be asked to give his version of the event. The foreign envoys had very soon followed the example set by Her Majesty and withdrawn from the circle, which seemed more hostile to them than usual to-night. The Cardinal de Moreno and the Marquis de Suarez were the first to go. They occupied the magnificent suite of chambers wherein ill-fated Wolsey had lived, schemed, and fallen. The more sumptuous series of rooms beyond--those built with lavish extravagance by King Henry VIII for his own personal use--had been placed at the disposal of His Grace of Wessex and his numerous retinue. Between the Duke's apartments and those allotted to the envoys of the King of Spain was the fine audience chamber, used by the Queen herself or by her more distinguished guests for the reception of important visitors. It was here that Lord Everingham, anxious, perturbed, vaguely ashamed of his own actions, had sought out the Cardinal de Moreno after the banquet and begged for an interview. His Eminence, suave, urbane, a veritable mirror of benevolence, had received him with a smile of welcome on his lips and a wealth of kindly reproach in his eyes. "Ah, my lord!" he said to the young man, as soon as the servants had withdrawn, "Nature, I fear me, hath not intended you for a diplomatist." "How so?" "This interview to-night, with me--was it necessary?" "I could not rest," said Everingham impulsively, "until----" "Until you had proclaimed it to the entire Court in general, and to His Grace of Wessex in particular, that you had a secret understanding with his political rival, the Spanish ambassador," rejoined His Eminence drily. "An interview . . ." "Have you ever honoured me thus before, my lord?--you or any of your friends?" "No . . . perhaps not . . . I only requested a brief _tête-à-tête_. . . ." "And had I refused that dangerous _tête-à-tête_, what would you have done?" "Demanded it," replied Everingham hotly. "I must know what has happened, and what you intend to do." His Eminence threw a quick look at the young man, a look half of pity, half of contempt. For a moment it seemed as if an angry retort hovered upon his lips. But he merely shrugged his shoulders and said blandly-- "You are very expert at the game of chess, my lord, so they tell me."