“It would be madness,” Mr. Sabin answered. “To be the most beautiful peeress in England is perhaps for Helene a happier fate than to be the first queen of a new dynasty.”
“And you, uncle?” Helene said. “You are back from your exile then. How often I have felt disposed to smile when I thought of you, of all men, in America.”
“I went into exile,” Mr. Sabin answered, “and I found paradise. The three years which have passed since I saw you last have been the happiest of my life.”
“Lucille!” Helene exclaimed.
“Is my wife,” Mr. Sabin answered.
“Delightful!” Helene murmured. “She is with you then, I hope. Indeed, I felt sure that I saw her the other night at the opera.”
“At the opera!” Mr. Sabin for a moment was silent. He would have been ashamed to confess that his heart was beating strongly, that a crowd of eager questions trembled upon his lips. He recovered himself after a moment.
“Lucille is not with me for the moment,” he said in measured tones. “I am detaining you from your guests, Helene. If you will permit me I will call upon you.”
“Won’t you join us?” Lord Camperdown asked courteously. “We are only a small party—the Portuguese Ambassador and his wife, the Duke of Medchester, and Stanley Phillipson.”
Mr. Sabin rose at once.