“She is with my wife and asks for your escort home. My wife also looks forward to the pleasure of renewing her acquaintance with you.”
“I shall accept your Excellency’s guidance in the matter,” Dominey decided.
The Princess Terniloff was a woman of world culture, an artist, and still an extremely attractive woman. She received the visitor whom her husband brought to her in a very charming little room furnished after the style of the simplest French period, and she did her best to relieve the strain of what she understood must be a somewhat trying moment.
“We are delighted to welcome you to London, Sir Everard Dominey,” she said, taking his hand, “and I hope that we shall often see you here. I want to present you to my cousin, who is interested in you, I must tell you frankly, because of your likeness to a very dear friend of hers. Stephanie, this is Sir Everard Dominey—the Princess Eiderstrom.”
Stephanie, who was seated upon the couch from which her cousin had just risen, held out her hand to Dominey, who made her a very low and formal bow. Her gown was of unrelieved black. Wonderful diamonds flashed around her neck, and she wore also a tiara fashioned after the Hungarian style, a little low on her forehead. Her manner and tone still indicated some measure of rebellion against the situation.
“You have forgiven me for my insistence this morning?” she asked. “It was hard for me to believe that you were not indeed the person for whom I mistook you.”
“Other people have spoken to me of the likeness,” Dominey replied. “It is a matter of regret to me that I can claim to be no more than a simple Norfolk baronet.”
“Without any previous experience of European Courts?”
“Without any at all.”
“Your German is wonderfully pure for an untravelled man.”
“Languages were the sole accomplishment I brought away from my misspent school days.”
“You are not going to bury yourself in Norfolk, Sir Everard?” the Princess Terniloff enquired.
“Norfolk is very near London these days,” Dominey replied, “and I have experienced more than my share of solitude during the last few years. I hope to spend a portion of my time here.”
“You must dine with us one night,” the Princess insisted, “and tell us about Africa. My husband would be so interested.”
“You are very kind.”
Stephanie rose slowly to her feet, leaned gracefully over and kissed her hostess on both cheeks, and submitted her hand to the Prince, who raised it to his lips. Then she turned to Dominey.
“Will you be so kind as to see me home?” she asked. “Afterwards, my car can take you on wherever you choose to go.”
“I shall be very happy,” Dominey assented.
He, too, made his farewells. A servant in the hall handed him his hat and coat, and he took his place in the car by Stephanie’s side. She touched the electric switch as they glided off. The car was in darkness.
“I think,” she murmured, “that I could not have borne another moment of this juggling with words. Leopold—we are alone!”
He caught the flash of her jewels, the soft brilliance of her eyes as she leaned towards him. His voice sounded, even to himself, harsh and strident.
“You mistake, Princess. My name is not Leopold. I am Everard Dominey.”
“Oh, I know that you are very obstinate,” she said softly, “very obstinate and very devoted to your marvellous country, but you have a soul, Leopold; you know that there are human duties as great as any your country ever imposed upon you. You know what I look for from you, what I must find from you or go down into hell, ashamed and miserable.”
He felt his throat suddenly dry.
“Listen,” he muttered, “until the hour strikes, I must remain to you as to the world, alone or in a crowd—Everard Dominey. There is one way and one way only of carrying through my appointed task.”
She gave a little hysterical sob.
“Wait,” she begged. “I will answer you in a moment. Give me your hand.”
He opened the fingers which he had kept clenched together, and he felt the hot grip of her hand, holding his passionately, drawing it toward her until the fingers of her other hand, too, fell upon it. So she sat for several moments.
“Leopold,” she continued presently, “I understand. You are afraid that I shall betray our love. You have reason. I am full of impulses and passion, as you know, but I have restraint. What we are to one another when we are alone, no soul in this world need know. I will be careful. I swear it. I will never even look at you as though my heart ached for your notice, when we are in the presence of other people. You shall come and see me as seldom as you wish. I will receive you only as often as you say. But don’t treat me like this. Tell me you have come back. Throw off this hideous mask, if it be only for a moment.”
He sat quite still, although her hands were tearing at his, her lips and eyes beseeching him.
“Whatever may come afterwards,” he pronounced inexorably, “until the time arrives I am Everard Dominey. I cannot take advantage of your feelings for Leopold Von Ragastein. He is not here. He is in Africa. Perhaps some day he will come back to you and be all that you wish.”
She flung his hands away. He felt her eyes burning into his, this time with something more like furious curiosity.
“Let me look at you,” she cried. “Let me be sure. Is this just some ghastly change, or are you an imposter? My heart is growing chilled. Are you the man I have waited for all these years? Are you the man to whom I have given my lips, for whose sake I offered up my reputation as a sacrifice, the man who slew my husband and left me?”
“I was exiled,” he reminded her, his own voice shaking with emotion. “You know that. So
