"At a dinner-party?" said Sir William awfully.

"Anywhere, dearest."

"But you don't talk about God at dinner! Damme, it's not decent!"

"No, it does make it all seem rather cheap, doesn't it?" agreed Lady Dering. "However, they seem to think that a good thing, and after all, it's nothing to do with us."

"I wish more than ever that you had not been misguided enough to accept that woman's invitation!"

"Oh, I don't!" said Hugh. "I'm definitely out to enjoy myself. What with a dizzy blonde, a Russian prince, and Connie Bawtry gone Groupy, I foresee a rare evening. Mary was rather dreading the Russian Prince when last I saw her, but she's bound to appreciate a really farcical situation. I hope the Prince turns out to be up to standard. I suppose he'll have arrived by now."

The Prince had indeed arrived, and was at that moment bowing over his hostess's plump hand. He was very dark, and of uncertain age, but extremely handsome, blessed with the slimmest of figures, very gleaming teeth, and the most elegant address. In fact, when he raised Ermyntrude's hand to his lips, she could not refrain from casting a triumphant glance towards her husband and Mary.

"Dear lady!" murmured the Prince. "As radiant as ever! I am enchanted! And the little Vicky! But no! This is not the little Vicky!"

He had turned to Mary, with his well-manicured hand held out. She put hers into it, saying rather inadequately: "How do you do?" He continued to hold her hand, but looked towards Ermyntrude with a question in his smiling, dark eyes.

"No, this is my husband's ward, Miss Cliffe," said Ermyntrude. "And here is my husband. Wally, this is Prince Varasashvili."

"Delighted!" the Prince said, releasing Mary's hand to clasp Wally's. "Of you I have heard so much!"

Wally looked quite alarmed, but before he could demand to know who had been telling tales about him, Ermyntrude intervened with an offer to escort the Prince to his room.