Mademoiselle turned about angrily and met the Princess' gaze. She seemed about to fly out in a tempest, but as suddenly checked herself, leaving only a little frown on her forehead to witness to her annoyance. She had been engaged in a little triumph that suited her vanity, and she had been called away from it. I really do not think there was anything more than that in it—not then, at any rate. She rose.
"You are a tyrant, my princess," she said, and nodding sweetly to Barraclough and myself, left the gallery.
Princess Alix followed, her face pale and still. More than ever was I convinced that, whatever feelings the lady had inspired in the Prince, his sister was not party to them.
CHAPTER XII
In the Saloon
I think it was from that hour that I began to get on badly with Barraclough. It was in his power as acting captain, no doubt, to remit certain precautions, but the remission of those precautions was not to the credit of his head. He had been beguiled by the Siren, and she, doubtless, by her vanity or her freakishness. When she had gone he turned on me.
"What the devil do you want interfering, Phillimore?" he demanded. "I'm in charge here."
There never was a man so insensate. I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, it was not my interference that was successful," I said curtly.
He walked abruptly to the window and opened it wider I could not be mistaken as to the bulky form that blocked it.