“Try not to let it hurt you, Sire,” Maria urged. “Your true friends know, as I do, that you have a real and honourable desire to pay your just debts. That is enough. Let’s forget the unkind things that would be said whatever you did.”

“That is true enough,” the Prince agreed. “He hates me! You know my father hates me.”

“But the people are proud of what you are doing,” Maria pointed out and she showed him some of the newspapers that had come from London and which praised the Prince in no uncertain manner.

Nevertheless, however happy he might be at Brighthelmstone, it was obvious that the Prince still smarted under his father’s attacks and hoped, almost against hope, that the King would relent.

He seemed to cling to Maria in those moments and at such times she became more like a mother to him than a lover, consoling and comforting him and raising his spirits when they sank into the depths of depression.

It was then that Gretna felt a little in the way and effaced herself as cleverly as she could without being obvious about it. It was not so easy in such a tiny house and she was undisguisedly glad when Sir Harry appeared unexpectedly one afternoon when they were walking on the Stein.

“Sir Harry!” she exclaimed, her eyes dancing. “I had no suspicion that you were coming to Brighthelmstone.”

“Then you must be bird-witted,” he teased her. “You know full well I would follow you to Hell if you led me there.”

She laughed at that, but her eyes fell before his because there was no disguise about the affection he felt for her.

When he had greeted Maria and the Prince, they fell a little behind so that they could talk without being overheard.

“How is the Prince bearing up?” Sir Harry asked in a low voice.

“Wonderfully,” Gretna replied. “I think he is almost enjoying his economies. Maria makes him count every penny that he spends and they have quite a game trying to remember each paltry expenditure.”

“I told Julien that everything would be all right,” Sir Harry remarked. “But he has been worrying after the Prince all the way down here like an old hen with only one chick.”

“Is the Marquis – here?” Gretna asked.

She managed to speak lightly, but her heart turned over in her breast and she felt suddenly agitated, her hands instinctively flying towards the tumult in her heart

“Yes, indeed,” Sir Harry answered. “We are both here and fine and dandy in a slap-up house Julien has taken right on the Marine Parade.”

“I-I should have thought that such a small place would have – bored his Lordship,” Gretna faltered.