He had not counted these last days as days of the month. He had made careless engagements for Tuesdays or Wednesdays, or other days in the week; and to-morrow he had appointments with important patients, and a consultation.
“It looks like decadence—strangely like decadence,” he told himself, bitterly, as, looking in the glass, he noted the deep lines on his face, the haggard look in his eyes. “I did not remember the twenty-first; and now I must cancel everything to-morrow—for the boy’s sake, I must be consistent—I must take him to his mother’s grave. But—to let everything go to the wall! Well, it must be done. But this shall be a lesson. No more fooling with princes and princesses—solid, sensible work.”
A brave determination, Dr. Paull! But, when you made it, did Fate smile, or shed a tear?
CHAPTER X.
A DISAPPOINTMENT.
Dr. Paull and his son left Waterloo with their cases of flowers at an early hour next morning. Hugh was in a severe humour. Out of temper with himself, he was inclined to be out of temper with the rest of mankind. The first incident did not improve his humour. Like other travellers, he was in the habit of buying papers, to beguile the tedium of the railway journey. He had partially read his Times, when Ralph, who sat opposite, leant over, and, showing him an illustration in a well-known weekly, said:
“Is it like her, father?”
It was the portrait of the Princess Andriocchi, after a painting in the Paris Salon.
For a moment he hardly realised the extraordinary fact that his boy should ask him such a question, then recovering himself:
“Like whom?” he asked.
“Like the princess. Jones told me you had a new patient—a princess—and showed me the prince’s card. Poor old fellow! He does think a lot of royalty, father.”