"I do not think that thirty-four is old at all, and if you care for Isobel, I would not let anyone else marry her," she declared. "Is that Calais?"
"Yes."
"I think that I will go now in case my maid should see us together," she said. "Oh, I can tell you where we are going in Paris. Will that help you?"
"Of course it will," I answered.
"Number 17, Rue Henriette," she whispered. "Please come a little further this way a moment."
I obeyed her at once. We were quite out of sight now, in the quietest corner of the ship.
"Mr. Greatson," she said, "you will think that I am a very strange girl. I am going to be married in a few months to a man I do not care for one little bit, and it seems to me that that will be the end of my life. I want you to marry Isobel, and I hope you will both be very happy—and—will you please kiss me once? I am Isobel's cousin, you know."
I leaned forward and touched her lips. Then I grasped her hands warmly.
"You are very, very kind," I said gratefully, "and you can't think how much happier you have made me feel. If only—you were not a Princess!"
She flitted away into the darkness with a little broken laugh. She passed me half an hour later in the Customs' house with a languid impassive stare which even her mother could not have excelled.