“Talked with him for three hours yesterday,” replied her uncle. Then he laughed. “He’ll be surprised when he sees that the keeper of the galleries is the Grand Duke. I let him think I was the keeper.”
Meanwhile Zeppstein had found Grafton at the Hôtel de l’Europe, dejectedly preparing to leave. When he explained his mission, Grafton at first flatly refused. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “I wish to get away from here on the next train.”
“But, my dear Mr. Grafton, think of the honor—His Royal Highness proposes in person to thank you! And—I don’t wish to raise false hopes, but I’m confident he will decorate you!”
“I’m overwhelmed!” said Grafton. “I should die of joy; I must not go.”
Zeppstein looked suspicious of mockery, then decided that he was mistaken, and went on with his pleadings. “His Royal Highness can be most gracious. He will not make you feel the difference in station.”
While he talked Grafton was not listening but reflecting. On impulse he decided to go. “Why not see her again?” he thought. “I can feel no worse.” His mind made up, he pretended reluctantly to yield. “I’ll waive the etiquette of the occasion, I think,” he said.
“The etiquette? Pardon me; I do not follow you.”
“Why, the Grand Duke should have called first.”
“My dear Mr. Grafton—”
“Isn’t he only a grand duke?”