“‘The Runaway Prince! Secret search through Europe, Britain, and America.’ The Prince is ‘eccentric, romantic, artistic, a connoisseur.’—Of course! He picked out the Turner at once! and the Buddha! Oh, can it be...?” She consulted the paper again. “‘The prince is fond of entering, incognito, the homes of humble folk—frequently attired like a vagabond.’” The paper fell from her hand. “‘Fond of entering the homes’—‘secret search’—‘to bring a certain great person home’—? Oh, it is—it is the prince! A prince has come to me, on my Wonderful Day!”
CHAPTER XXI
A voice broke in upon her blissful musings, in a strain both matter-of-fact and gently reproachful.
“You never gave me any jelly. I found one out there; it was delicious. Also a truly amazing cake. I think I may deduce from the state of my appetite that I forgot to eat a dinner to-night. Yes, I remember now. I wrote a poem instead. All but the last verse. That didn’t seem to come. So I wound up with coffee and cheese.”
The Incognito sauntered in from the dining room with a comforted look on his countenance.
“That farther compartment of your museum, the kitchen, seemed familiar. I was led to explore it. I do not despise kitchens—nor pantries. I have a fancy for them. Nothing delights me like entering a pantry—unobserved.”
Noting Mrs. Mearely’s absorbed gaze, he became self-conscious. He looked at her; then endeavoured, by looking directly from her eyes to his own person, to discern what it was that had inspired her fixed stare.
“Is anything the matter with me? I mean, anything more than usual?”
“Oh no, Your Hi——” She checked the reverent utterance quickly. “Oh—oh—no!”