"You can claim, at any rate, a bloodless and unapparent revolution," the
Prince observed. "You chivied your aristocracy of birth out of existence
with yellow papers, your aristocracy of mind with a devastating income
tax. This is the class whom you left to gorge,--the war profiteers. I
hope that whoever writes the history of these times will see that it is
properly illustrated."

In the lounge, they had barely seated themselves before Naida, with her
father and Immelan, appeared. The little party at once joined up, and
Naida seated herself next to Nigel. She talked very slowly, but her
accent amounted to little more than a prolongation of certain syllables,
which had the effect of a rather musical drawl. Her father, after the
few words of introduction had been spoken, strolled away to speak to
some acquaintances, and Immelan and the Prince discussed with measured
politeness one of the commonplace subjects of the moment. Naida and her
companion became almost isolated.

"I met your uncle once," Naida said, "at a dinner party in Paris. I
remember that he attracted me. He represented a class of Englishman of
whom I had met very few, the thinking aristocrat with a sense for
foreign affairs. It was some years ago, that. He remained outside
politics, did he not, until his death?"

"Outside all practical politics," Nigel assented. "He had his interests,
though."

She looked at him thoughtfully.

"Have you inherited them?" she asked.