‘An affair of State?’ she smiled.
‘An affair of State,’ he replied soberly. ‘Even Dimmock doesn’t know. It was strange that we should be fellow guests at that quiet out-of-the-way hotel—strange but delightful. I shall never forget that rainy afternoon that we spent together in the Museum of the Trocadéro. Let us talk about that.’
‘About the rain, or the museum?’
‘I shall never forget that afternoon,’ he repeated, ignoring the lightness of her question.
‘Nor I,’ she murmured corresponding to his mood.
‘You, too enjoyed it?’ he said eagerly.
‘The sculptures were magnificent,’ she replied, hastily glancing at the ceiling.
‘Ah! So they were! Tell me, Miss Racksole, how did you discover my identity.’
‘I must not say,’ she answered. ‘That is my secret. Do not seek to penetrate it. Who knows what horrors you might discover if you probed too far?’ She laughed, but she laughed alone. The Prince remained pensive—as it were brooding.
‘I never hoped to see you again,’ he said.