“Nothing at all,” replied the Doctor, calmly. “He is the merest servant--the kind of person who is ‘told off’ to attend on the women of a harem.” “Ah, I see you have been making inquiries concerning the princess, Doctor,” said Lady Fulkeward, with a smile. “I have.” “And have you found out anything about her?” “No; that is, nothing of social importance, except, perhaps, two items--first, that she is not a Russian; secondly, that she has never been married.” “Never been married!” exclaimed Lady Chetwynd Lyle, then suddenly turning to her daughters she said blandly: “Muriel, Dolly, go into the house, my dears. It is getting rather warm for you on this terrace. I will join you in a few minutes.” The “girls” rose obediently with a delightfully innocent and juvenile air, and fortunately for them did not notice the irreverent smile that played on young Lord Fulkeward’s face, which was immediately reflected on the artistically tinted countenance of his mother, at the manner of their dismissal. “There is surely nothing improper in never having been married,” said Dr. Dean, with a mock serious air. “Consider, my dear Lady Lyle, is there not something very chaste and beautiful in the aspect of an old maid?” Lady Lyle looked up sharply. She had an idea that both she and her daughters were being quizzed, and she had some difficulty to control her rising temper. “Then do you call the Princess an old maid?” she demanded. Lady Fulkeward looked amused; her son laughed outright. But the Doctor’s face was perfectly composed. “I don’t know what else I can call her,” he said, with a thoughtful air. “She is no longer in her teens, and she has too much voluptuous charm for an _ingénue_. Still, I admit, you would scarcely call her ‘old’ except in the parlance of the modern matrimonial market. Our present-day _roués_, you know, prefer their victims young, and I fancy the Princess Ziska would be too old and perhaps too clever for most of them. Personally speaking, she does not impress me as being of any particular age, but as she is not married, and is, so to speak, a maid fully developed, I am perforce obliged to call her an old maid.” “She wouldn’t thank you for the compliment,” said Lady Lyle with a spiteful grin. “I daresay not,” responded the Doctor blandly, “but I imagine she has very little personal vanity. Her mind is too preoccupied with something more important than the consideration of her own good looks.” “And what is that?” inquired Lady Fulkeward, with some curiosity. “Ah! there is the difficulty! What is it that engrosses our fair friend more than the looking-glass? I should like to know--but I cannot find out. It is an enigma as profound as that of the Sphinx. Good-morning, Monsieur Gervase!”--and, turning round, he addressed the artist, who just then stepped out on the terrace carrying a paint-box and a large canvas strapped together in portable form. “Are you going to sketch some picturesque corner of the city?”