“The question is,” said Clovis darkly, “whether I ought to be seen talking to you. I may be involving you.”

“Heavens! Involving me in what?” gasped Jocelyn.

“Do you know anything about Bukowina?” Clovis asked with seeming inconsequence.

“Bukowina? It’s somewhere in Asia Minor, isn’t it⁠—or Central Asia⁠—or is it part of the Balkans?” hazarded Jocelyn; “I really forget for the moment. Where exactly is it?”

“On the brink of a revolution,” said Clovis impressively; “that’s what I want to warn you about. When I was staying with my aunt in Bucharest” (Clovis invented aunts as lavishly as other people invent golfing experiences) “I got mixed up in the affair without knowing what I was in for. There was a princess⁠—”

“Ah,” said Jocelyn knowingly, “there always is a beautiful and alluring princess in these affairs.”