The vagabond prince added another touch of realism to the fiction. He bowed formally, as if he had only now perceived that there was a lady present, and said:
“I shall never forget your kindness, Mrs. ——?”
“Mrs. Mearely.” She took the cue promptly and, imitating his method, painstakingly spelled the name out: “M-e-a-r-e-l-y.”
“Mrs. Mearely,” he repeated, and bowed again.
Even innocent-hearted Dr. Wells might have questioned the wherefore of this spelling bee, if he had not been wholly occupied with the contents of his bag.
“Now, if Dr. Wells will kindly patch me up so that I can set out on my way....”
“No, no! You daren’t go on now.” In spite of herself, her glance went to the verandah. Had the Secret Service come creeping up from the road again, to see that His Highness did not escape in the doctor’s trap?
“Go on? To-night?” Dr. Wells shook his head. He never approved of rapid convalescence. “Oh, dear no. I couldn’t advise it. Bed and rest, my dear sir; bed and rest, till the shock is abated. Yes.”
“My sister’s room is ready,” Mrs. Mearely urged.
“Mrs. Mearely is kindness itself.” The vagabond bowed again. “But I dare not lose the time. I am obliged to keep an appointment to-morrow. Important business.”