He left the room hurriedly. Helène laughed.
“He has gone to find the Duchess,” she said, “and there will be a scene! Let us go out in the Park.”
They walked about under the trees; suddenly they came face to face with Mr. Sabin. He was looking a little worn, but he was as carefully dressed as usual, and he welcomed them with a smile and an utter absence of any embarrassment.
“So soon!” he remarked pleasantly. “You Englishmen are as prompt in love as you are in war, Lord Wolfenden! It is an admirable trait.”
Helène laid her hand upon his arm. Yes, it was no fancy; his hair was greyer, and heavy lines furrowed his brow.
“Uncle,” she said, “believe me that I am sorry for you, though for myself—I am glad!”
He looked at her kindly, yet with a faint contempt.
“The Bourbon blood runs very slowly in your veins, child,” he said. “After all I begin to doubt whether you would have made a queen! As for myself—well, I am resigned. I am going to Pau, to play golf!”
“For how long, I wonder,” she said smiling, “will you be able to content yourself there?”
“For a month or two,” he answered; “until I have lost the taste of defeat. Then I have plans—but never mind; I will tell you later on. You will all hear of me again! So far as you two are concerned at any rate,” he added, “I have no need to reproach myself. My failure seems to have brought you happiness.”