Do you know, I believe that I could
convince you to the contrary."
Lord Robert raised his eyebrows.
"Mr. dear Mr. Sabin," he said, "pray reflect. I am a messenger.
No more! A hired commissionaire!"
Mr. Sabin bowed.
"You are an ambassador!" he said.
The young man shook his head.
"You magnify my position," he declared. "My errand is done when I
remind you that it is many years since you visited Paris, that
Vienna is as fascinating a city as ever, and Pesth a few hours
journey beyond. But London--no, London is not possible for you.
After the seventh day from this London would be worse than
impossible."
Mr. Sabin smoked thoughtfully for a few moments.
"Lord Robert," he said, "I have, I believe, the right of a personal
appeal. I desire to make it."
Lord Robert looked positively distressed.
"My dear sir," he said, "the right of appeal, any right of any
sort, belongs only to those within the circle."
"Exactly," Mr. Sabin agreed. "I claim to belong there."
Lord Roberts shrugged his shoulders.
"You force me to remind you," he said, "of a certain decree--a
decree of expulsion passed five years ago, and of which I presume
due notification was given to you."
Mr. Sabin shook his head very slowly.
"I deny the legality of that decree," he said. "There can be no
such thing as expulsion.
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