And the Prince himself, in the midst of it all, was exactly like the Prince Charming of the Fairytales. He was so good-looking, so good-humoured, so gay and witty that it was not surprising that everyone seemed to hang spellbound upon his slightest word.

But, as Maria appeared with Gretna following her, he sprang forward with the eagerness of a schoolboy.

“We are indeed honoured that you should grace this gathering, madam,” he said to Maria and there was no doubting the sincerity in his voice.

And then he held out his hand to Gretna, raising her as she curtseyed very low before him.

“Entrancing,” he said for her ear alone and then began to introduce her to his friends. The Duchess of Devonshire, Mrs. Crew, the Duke of Rutland and Lady Sefton.

Names were reeled off in a bewildering succession, faces swam before her eyes and Gretna thought despairingly that she would never remember who was who of the brilliant, elegant important people she curtseyed to.

And then she heard the Prince say,

“And here is another friend I should like to present to you. Someone who has been absent from our parties for far too long. The Marquis of Stade – Miss Gretna Hayden.”

The moment had come, the moment she had dreaded. Gretna felt her heart give a startled leap.

Just for a flashing second she glanced at the Marquis. She saw that his expression was severe, his eyes inscrutable and then her dark eyelashes seemed to touch her cheeks as she sank down in a curtsey.

“Miss Hayden,” the Marquis said slowly as if he was savouring the name, “I think we have met before.”

There was a moment’s silence and then Gretna raised her eyes and looked up at him.

She had forgotten how tall he was and how magnificent.

“N-no, my Lord,” she faltered. “You are – m-mistaken.”

But even as she spoke, she saw by the expression in his eyes that he did not believe her.

CHAPTER SIX

Gretna was hardly conscious of what happened next.

She heard the Prince’s voice introducing her to other people to whom she curtseyed automatically.

She heard vaguely, as if in the far distance, someone ask a question and her own voice replying in just the right tones of deference and a young girl’s shyness.

But all the time the blood seemed to be beating in her ears and her heart felt as if it must burst out beneath the soft satin of her gown.

The Marquis had recognised her!

Her powdered hair, elegant dress and different background had not been enough to deceive him. His dark penetrating eyes had looked into hers and seen the truth.

She was the same girl who had fled into his arms from the unwelcome attentions of Lord Wroxhall at Stade Hall and whom he had kissed in the library of his house in Berkeley Square.