Penelope and Lady Grace were certainly admirable foils. The latter was fair, with beautiful complexion--a trifle sunburnt, blue eyes, good-humored mouth, and features excellent in their way, but a little lacking in expression. Her figure was good; her movements slow but not ungraceful; her dress of white ivory satin a little extravagant for the occasion. She looked exactly what she was,--a well-bred, well-disposed, healthy young Englishwoman, of aristocratic parentage. Penelope, on the other hand, more simply dressed, save for the string of pearls which hung from her neck, had the look of a creature from another world. She had plenty of animation; a certain nervous energy seemed to keep her all the time restless. She talked ceaselessly, sometimes to the Prince, more often to Sir Charles. Her gray-green eyes were bright, her cheeks delicately flushed. She spoke and looked and moved as one on fire with the joy of life. The Prince, noticing that Lady Grace had been left to herself for the last few moments, moved a little towards her and commenced a courteous conversation. Sir Charles took the opportunity to bend over his companion.
"Penelope," he said,"you are queer tonight. Tell me what it is?
You don't really dislike the Prince, do you?""Why, of course not," she answered, looking back into the restaurant and listening, as though interested in the music. "He is odd, though, isn't he? He is so serious and, in a way, so convincing. He is like a being transplanted into an absolutely alien soil. One would like to laugh at him, and one can't.""He is rather an anomaly," Sir Charles said, humming lightly to himself. "I suppose, compared with us matter-of-fact people, he must seem to your sex quite a romantic figure.""He makes no particular appeal to me at all," Penelope declared.
Somerfield was suddenly thoughtful.
"Sometimes, Penelope," he said, "I don't quite understand you, especially when we speak about the Prince. I have come to the conclusion that you either like him very much, or you dislike him very much, or you have some thoughts about him which you tell to no one."She lifted her skirts. The carriage had been called.
"I like your last suggestion," she declared. "You may believe that that is true."On their way out, the Prince was accosted by some friends and remained talking for several moments. When he entered the omnibus, there seemed to Penelope, who found herself constantly watching him closely, a certain added gravity in his demeanor.
The drive to the theatre was a short one, and conversation consisted only of a few disjointed remarks. In the lobby the Prince laid his hand upon Somerfield's arm.
"Sir Charles," he said, "if I were you, I would keep that evening paper in your pocket. Don't let the ladies see it."Somerfield looked at him in surprise.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"To me personally it is of no consequence," the Prince answered, "but your womenfolk feel these things so keenly, and Mr.
Vanderpole is of the same nationality, is he not, as Miss Morse?
If you take my advice, you will be sure that they do not see the paper until after they get home this evening.""Has anything happened to Dicky?" Somerfield asked quickly.
The Prince's face was impassive; he seemed not to have heard.
Penelope had turned to wait for them.
"The Duchess thinks that we had better all go into the box," she said. "We have two stalls as well, but as Dicky is not here there is really room for five. Will you get some programmes, Sir Charles?"Somerfield stopped for a minute, under pretence of seeking some change, and tore open his paper. The Prince led Penelope down the carpeted way.
"I heard what you and Sir Charles were saying," she declared quietly. "Please tell me what it is that has happened to Dicky?"The Prince's face was grave.
"I am sorry," he replied. "I did not know that our voices would travel so far.""It was not yours," she said. "It was Sir Charles'. Tell me quickly what it is that has happened?""Mr. Vanderpole," the Prince answered, "has met with an accident,--a somewhat serious one, I fear. Perhaps," he added, "it would be as well, after all, to break this to the Duchess. Iwas forgetting the prejudices of your country. She will doubtless wish that our party should be broken up."Penelope was suddenly very white. He whispered in her ear.
"Be brave," he said. "It is your part."
She stood still for a moment, and then moved on. His words had had a curious effect upon her. The buzzing in her ears had ceased; there was something to be done--she must do it! She passed into the box, the door of which the attendant was holding open.
"Duchess," she said, "I am so sorry, but I am afraid that something has happened to Dicky. If you do not mind, I am going to ask Sir Charles to take me home.""But my dear child!" the Duchess exclaimed.
"Miss Morse is quite right," the Prince said quietly. "I think it would be better for her to leave at once. If you will allow me, Iwill explain to you later."
She left the box without another word, and took Somerfield's arm.
"We two are to go," she murmured. "The Prince will explain to the Duchess."The Prince closed the box door behind them. He placed a chair for the Duchess so that she was not in view of the house.
"A very sad thing has happened," he said quietly. "Mr. Vanderpole met with an accident in a taxicab this evening. From the latest reports, it seems that he is dead!"
