“Yes, yes,” soothingly. “We will go home. We will marry her.” He sighed. “She will say she adores me. She has been well brought up.” He turned his attention once more to Roseborough and the present. “Farewell,” he said—his expression was grieved and disdainful—“I go—without regrets. Here, where I thought was my journey’s end, I have heard most cruel criticism. It is the world. Everywhere the same. I go back to my own country, where I can put the critics in the prison!”
The vagabond asked meekly:
“If Your Highness will be so kind as to introduce me and vouch for my respectability—for Mrs. Mearely’s sake....”
Prince Adam bent upon him imperious looks of intense dislike.
“For Mrs. Mearely, nothing is needed. You—and you”—pointing at the offenders, chief of whom he rightly considered to be Mrs. Witherby—“destroyed her reputation. But I have given her a new one. She needs no more. Now, those, who absurdly criticized her, are at her feet in apologies. They will humble themselves before her always.”
“Nay, Your Highness,” replied the vagabond, who had read the signs more clearly. In spite of himself, the whimsical strain came uppermost. “Here also, water will not run uphill—not even to oblige a prince.”
“I say, I do not know you!” Prince Adam thundered, “You are an anarchist and a critic. From you I have received this false tale of a place where ‘all hearts are tender and sincere.’ Roseborough! Ah! bah! You are my evil genius. I repudiate you. Before all, I say I do not know this man.”
He took Rosamond’s hand and, with profound reverence, kissed it. “Rosamond,” he repeated her name feelingly, “I cannot take you where I am going. Besides, now I shall marry Princess Olga, and it is even possible she would not wish you to be with me. You will remain forever in my memory—my one true dream, the perfect melody I heard but could not keep. Farewell.”
He saluted the others distantly. “Madame. Ladies. Herr Howard.” He marched out with swift step, but stopped suddenly on the verandah, remembering the wounded Lassanavatiewicz limping behind. “Come, my Teodor. Come my Teodor. Ah—ah—so faithful.” He put his arm about his Teodor’s shoulder an instant, as the latter lifted his bandaged leg over the threshold, an act of condescension which caused Lassanavatiewicz to weep devotedly. Prince Adam crossed the verandah and passed from view without a backward glance.
Mr. Marks, alone of those in the living room of Villa Rose, had comments to make immediately, and his were personal. He was divided between pleasure at having actually hit Lassanavatiewicz and chagrin at having only grazed him.