"You hold safely that which I placed in your keeping?" he asked after a pause.
His hand felt its way to hers, lying inert on the cushion, his fingers closing softly upon it. She did not withdraw it, but lowered her head.
"Was it in connection with that your man was arrested in Boston?"
Koltsoff laughed.
"They thought to connect him with it. But—" he pressed Anne's fingers, "the connecting link happened to be in your—jewelry safe."
Anne, thrilled at the part she was playing in the mysterious diplomatic episode, laughed softly. Somehow it all appeared bigger even than dodging under battleships' bows,—certainly more subtle. Koltsoff gazed at her admiringly.
"My dear Miss Wellington," he said, "do you realize more and more, that of which I spoke to-day—your fitness for the international sphere? Your beauty—your coolness—the temper of your spirit—your ability to sway strong men, as you have swayed me—do you appreciate all? Are you proud that you have swayed me?"
"Prince Koltsoff!" Anne's voice rang with doubt and anguish and yet—pride.
She was tired and spent with the day and as his arm stole, almost snake-like, about her waist, she raised a nerveless hand, plucked feebly to remove the fingers pressing into her side, and then let her hand fall to the cushion.
His head was bending over her, his face was very close. Some vivid instinct told her that he must not kiss her. She tried to struggle but she could not. The next instant she was living that epoch which innocence may only know ere it perishes—a man's lips making free with eyes and mouth and cheeks. She lay now, half in his arms, looking at him with wide, startled eyes, her lips parched.