It is only the grayness which is always the same.""And even that," the Duchess remarked, smiling, "has been yellow for the last few days. Prince, you know my daughter Grace, and Iam sure that you have met Miss Penelope Morse? We are waiting for two other men, Sir Charles Somerfield and Mr. Vanderpole."The Prince bowed, and began to talk to his hostess' daughter,--a tall, fair girl, as yet only in her second season.
"Here comes Sir Charles, at any rate!" the Duchess exclaimed.
"Really, I think we shall have to go in. We can leave a message for Dicky; they all know him at this place. I am afraid he is one of those shocking young men who entertain the theatrical profession here to supper."A footman at that moment brought a note to the Duchess, which she tore open.
"This is from Dicky!" she exclaimed, glancing it through quickly,--"Savoy notepaper, too, so I suppose he has been here.
He says that he may be a few minutes late and that we are not to wait. He will pick us up either here or at the theatre. Prince, shall we let these young people follow us? I haven't heard your excuses yet. Do you know that you were a quarter of an hour late?"He bent towards her with troubled face.
"Dear Duchess," he said, "believe me, I am conscious of my fault.
An unexpected matter, which required my personal attention, presented itself at the last moment. I think I can assure you that nothing of its sort was ever accomplished so quickly. It would only weary you if I tried to explain.""Please don't," the Duchess begged, "so long as you are here at last. And after all, you see, you are not the worst sinner. Mr.
Vanderpole has not yet arrived."
The Prince walked on, for a few steps, in silence.
"Mr. Vanderpole is a great friend of yours, Duchess?" he asked.
The Duchess shook her head.
"I do not know him very well," she said. "I asked him for Penelope."The Prince looked puzzled.
"But I thought," he said, "that Miss Morse and Sir Charles--"The Duchess interrupted him with a smile.
"Sir Charles is very much in earnest," she whispered, "but very very slow. Dicky is just the sort of man to spur him on. He admires Penelope, and does not mind showing it. She is such a dear girl that I should love to have her comfortably settled over here.""She is very intelligent," the Prince said. "She is a young lady, indeed, for whom I have a great admiration. I am only sorry," he concluded, "that I do not seem able to interest her.""You must not believe that," the Duchess said. "Penelope is a little brusque sometimes, but it is only her manner."They made their way through the foyer to the round table which had been reserved for them in the centre of the restaurant.
"I suppose I ought to apologize for giving you dinner at such an hour," the Duchess remarked, "but it is our theatrical managers who are to blame. Why they cannot understand that the best play in the world is not worth more than two hours of our undivided attention, and begin everything at nine or a quarter-past, Icannot imagine."
The Prince smiled.
"Dear Duchess," he said, "I think that you are a nation of sybarites. Everything in the world must run for you so smoothly or you are not content. For my part, I like to dine at this hour.""But then, you take no luncheon, Prince," Lady Grace reminded him.
"I never lunch out," the Prince answered, "but I have always what is sufficient for me.""Tell me," the Duchess asked, "is it true that you are thinking of settling down amongst us? Your picture is in the new illustrated paper this week, you know, with a little sketch of your career. We are given to understand that you may possibly make your home in this country."The Prince smiled, and in his smile there seemed to be a certain mysticism. One could not tell, indeed, whether it came from some pleasant thought flitting through his brain, or whether it was that the idea itself was so strange to him.
"I have no plans, Duchess," he said. "Your country is very delightful, and the hospitality of the friends I have made over here is too wonderful a thing to be described; but one never knows."Lady Grace bent towards Sir Charles, who was sitting by her side.
"I can never understand the Prince," she murmured. "Always he seems as though he took life so earnestly. He has a look upon his face which I never see in the faces of any of you other young men.""He is a bit on the serious side," Sir Charles admitted.
"It isn't only that," she continued. "He reminds me of that man whom we all used to go and hear preach at the Oratory. He was the same in the pulpit and when one saw him in the street. His eyes seemed to see through one; he seemed to be living in a world of his own.""He was a religious Johnny, of course," Sir Charles remarked.
"They do walk about with their heads in the air."Lady Grace smiled.
"Perhaps it is religion with the Prince," she said,--"religion of a sort.""I tell you what I do think," Sir Charles murmured. "I think his pretence at having a good time over here is all a bluff. He doesn't really cotton to us, you know. Don't see how he could.
He's never touched a polo stick in his life, knows nothing about cricket, is indifferent to games, and doesn't even understand the meaning of the word Sportsman.' There's no place in this country for a man like that."Lady Grace nodded.
"I think," she said, "that his visit to Europe and his stay amongst us is, after all, in the nature of a pilgrimage. Isuppose he wants to carry back some of our civilization to his own people."Penelope, who overheard, laughed softly and leaned across the table.
"I fancy," she murmured, "that the person you are speaking of would not look at it in quite the same light.""Has any one seen the evening paper?" the Duchess asked. "It is there any more news about that extraordinary murder?""Nothing fresh in the early editions," Sir Charles answered.
"I think," the Duchess declared, "that it is perfectly scandalous. Our police system must be in a disgraceful state.
