Leycester, who been been watching, passed in front of her, and he put his hand out.
"Leycester!"
But he drew Stella's arm within his—she was white and trembling—and looking his mother in the face sternly, passed on with Stella.
"Take me home, Leycester," she moaned. "Oh, take me home! How can she be so cruel?"
But he would not.
"No," he said. "This is your place as much as hers. My poor mother, I pity her. Oh, pride, pride! You must stay."
Of course the incident had been noticed and remarked, and, amongst the persons who had seen it was a prince of the blood.
This distinguished individual was not only a prince but a gentle-hearted man, and as princes can take things as they please, he disregarded the best name on his ball programme and walking straight up to Stella, begged with that grand humility which distinguishes him, for the honor of her hand.
Stella, pale and beautifully pathetic in her trouble, faltered an excuse, an excuse to a royal command.
But he would not take it.