To Letty Miss Walbrook seemed friendlier than she had expected, only spasmodically so. Her kindly moods came in spurts of which the inspiration soon gave out. “I think she’s sad,” was Letty’s comment to herself. Sadness, in Letty’s use of words, covered all the emotions not distinctly cheerful or hilarious.
She knew nothing about Miss Walbrook, except that it appeared from this conversation that she lived with an aunt, whose car they were using. That she was a friend of the prince’s had been several times repeated, but all information ended there. To Letty she seemed old—between thirty and forty. Had she known her actual age she would still have seemed old from her knowledge of the world and general sophistication. Letty’s own lack of sophistication kept her a child when she was nearly twenty-three. That Miss Walbrook was the girl to whom the prince was engaged had not yet crossed her thought.
At the same time, since she knew that girl she brought her to the forefront of Letty’s consciousness. She was never far from the forefront of her consciousness, and of late speculation concerning her had become more active. If she approached the subject with the prince he reddened and grew ill at ease. The present seemed, therefore, an opportunity to be utilized.
They were deep in the northerly avenues of the Park, when apropos of the dress topic, Letty said, suddenly: “I suppose she’s awfully stylish—the girl he’s engaged to.”
The response was laconic: “She’s said to be.”
“Is she pretty?”
“I don’t think you could say that.”
“Then what does he see in her?”
“Whatever people do see in those they’re in love with. I’m afraid I’m not able to define it.”