Part 5

“At least the wedding won’t be till June. It’s only the end of February now. I’ve got more than three months.”

“You haven’t got one. Soon after the Princesses leave Biarritz, Lady Vale-Avon and Lady Monica are going to visit the old Duchess of Carmona in Spain.”

“What, they’re going to Seville?”

“If her house is there. I’m telling you what I’ve been told.”

“The principal house of the Duke is in Seville, though he has a place near Granada, and a flat in Madrid as a substitute for a fine house that was burned down.”

“Then Seville’s where they’ll be. Anyhow, they’re to see the great show in Holy Week there.”

It was as if Dick had suddenly drenched me with iced water.

For a few seconds I did not speak. Then I said, “Are you trying to break it to me that the match is arranged?”

“I told you Lady Monica wasn’t engaged.”

“And I told you I knew she wasn’t. But that isn’t to say the mother, the woman ‘as hard as iron and cold as steel,’ hasn’t planned her daughter’s future, a girl so young, and always kept under control.”

“It looks as if the wind was setting in that quarter. A person of Lady Vale-Avon’s type would hardly accept such an invitation if she didn’t intend something to come of it.”

“You’re certain the invitation’s been accepted?”

“Certain. Angèle de la Mole has been with her brother in Spain, and Lady Monica’s been asking her advice about what to take and what to wear. The Duke himself is in Paris, buying a new automobile; at least, so his mother says; but other people say he’s at Monte Carlo. Anyhow, he’s expected here in time for the ball.”

“What ball?”

“Didn’t I tell you? A masked ball the old Duchess is giving in honour of Princess Ena. A grand affair it will be, says de la Mole. There’s been jealousy about the invitations, which have been carefully weeded.”

“You and I’ll accept,” said I.

“We’re not likely to have the chance.”

“Sometimes a man must make a chance. I shall meet Lady Monica at the Duchess’s ball.”

“All right. Suppose you go in the garb of a palmer?”

“Eh?”

“I was thinking of another first meeting, case not dissimilar, you know, Romeo and Juliet. My poor, mad friend, there’s more hope for a Montague with a Capulet than for a Casa Triana with a friend of the future Queen of Spain, and the daughter of a Lady Vale-Avon.”

“Romeo won Juliet.”

“It wasn’t exactly a fortunate marriage. See here, if you’re going in for the part of Romeo, it’s no good asking me to play Mercutio.”

I looked at Dick and smiled. “I shall ask nothing,” I said. “Yet—”

“Yet, you know mighty well, if you want a Mercutio, I’ll be ready to take up the rôle at a moment’s notice all for the sake of your beaux yeux. Well, you’re right. There’s something queer about you, Ramón, which makes us others glad to do what we can, even if it were to cost our lives. If you’d been a king in exile, you’d have had no trouble in finding followers. From your French valet to your Russian soldiers; from your English chauffeur to your American friend, it’s pretty well the same. I expect you’ll get to that masked ball.”

“If I don’t, it won’t be for lack of trying,” said I.

“But—”

“But what—”