him. Her lips quivered and she nervously fingered the lace handkerchief she was holding in her hand.

“Mr. Morton, Her Highness is afraid to trust herself to a stranger. She is unstrung and I have not succeeded in persuading her to act as you propose.”

Helène leaned forward, resting her elbows upon her knees, and pressed the lace against her tired eyes. Suppressing a sob with a quick intake of her breath, she continued in a trembling voice, though with no trace of resentment in it:

“Why did not papa send someone we know—one of our own people? Please, do not misunderstand me. I have done all I could—I told her everything you bade me say,”—the tears were not to be denied now; they fell slowly unchecked.

John felt as if he would choke. It was as he had feared! He looked at Helène confounded and utterly at a loss what to say.