At her relief at not having to abase herself and tell the truth as to why she had sent him a note, the colour came back into Mistral’s cheeks and her eyes shone. She looked exquisite as she stood for a moment on the dance floor waiting for the Prince to put his arm round her, her wide skirts of ruched net billowing out around her, her neck and shoulders white as ivory above the closely swathed bodice.

The light from every gas jet in the room seemed to shimmer in her hair, its pale gold framing the exquisite outline of her face, in vivid contrast to the mystery of her dark-fringed eyes.

The Prince looked down at her and laughed a little as he swung her round, their feet moving in perfect unison to the strains of The Blue Danube’.

‘She is very lovely,’ Lady Violet said, and there was no need for Sir Robert to ask whom she meant.

He had been watching Mistral from the moment she rose from her table and now, as he watched her dance across the room, her head thrown back a little for she was speaking to the Prince, he thought that her grace was comparable only to that of the swans which moved over the silver waters of the lake at Cheveron.

‘Yes, she is very lovely,’ he heard his own voice say and was surprised at the depth in it.

‘We are not the only people who think so,’ Lady Violet said. ‘Look at the Rajah.’

Sir Robert turned his head in the direction in which she was looking. The Rajah was bending forward, his elbows on the table, his head resting on his hands. He, too, was watching Mistral, and the expression on his face made Sir Robert suddenly angry with a white fury that he had never experienced before.

How dare the fellow look at Mistral like that! He had a sudden wild desire to rise from the table, to stop Mistral from dancing with the Prince and take her away from the Restaurant, from Monte Carlo, from everywhere where she might be besmirched by coming in contact with such men as the Rajah.

She was too sweet, too good, for this sort of thing, Sir Robert thought, and he wondered what would happen if he walked across to the Rajah’s table and punched him hard in the face.

He was suddenly aware that Lady Violet was staring at him in surprise.

‘What is the matter, Robert?’ she asked.

Slowly his hands unclenched themselves.

‘Matter? Why, nothing!’

The veneer of civilisation had fallen upon him again. He felt rather foolish as if in actual fact he had made a scene in public.

‘You were looking so angry,’ Lady Violet said. ‘I thought something must have upset you. Or is it just my imagination?’

‘I am tired,’ Sir Robert said abruptly. ‘How soon can we leave?’