“The Russian Embassy,” repeated Rue.
“Yes. I may be a little late. We are to dine here en famille at eight. You will entertain James––
“James!” she repeated, addressing him. “Do you think Ruhannah sufficiently interesting to entertain you while I am absent?”
But all his aplomb, his lack of self-consciousness, seemed to be gone; and Neeland made some reply which seemed to him both obvious and dull. And hated himself because he found himself so unaccountably abashed, realising that he was afraid of the opinions that this young girl might entertain concerning him.
“I’m going,” said the Princess. “Au revoir, dear; good-bye, James––”
She looked at him keenly when he turned to face her, smiled, still considering him as though she had unexpectedly discovered a new feature in his expressive face.
Whatever it was she discovered seemed to make her smile a trifle more mechanical; she turned slowly to 315 Rue Carew, hesitated, then, nodding a gay adieu, turned and left the room with Neeland at her elbow.
“I’ll tuck you in,” he began; but she said:
“Thanks; Marotte will do that.” And left him at the door.
When the car had driven away down the rue Soleil d’Or, Neeland returned to the little drawing-room where Rue was indulging Sandy with small bits of sugar.