"You seem to take a great delight in the company of the duke," he began.
For a moment a look of resentment came into the girl's eyes, but she rose and put a warm arm round Edward's shoulders.
"Surely you can have no objection to him, guardy. I—I—do like him; but I like you, too, and I wouldn't care to do anything you would not wish me to do."
"My dear child"—Edward was quite paternal—"I think it would be best to see how things are in your country. A duke is a good match for Miss Baxendale—but perhaps not so suitable for the Queen of San Pietro."
Galva made no answer, but stood looking out from one of the long windows at the twilight settling down over the gardens of the Louvre. Edward went on—
"Besides, we know nothing of the duke. Titles on the continent are hardly the same as in England. I don't want to hurt your feelings, Galva, but the young man keeps shocking hours. I saw him come in at three this morning. I don't think he was quite sober; he insisted on giving champagne to all the hall porters and taking two huge motor lamps to light his way up-stairs."
"Why, guardy! weren't you in bed at three?"
Edward gave a little cough.
"Well—it may have been earlier. I—I—had been sitting up reading. I don't sleep very well, Galva. I think it's the change of scene."
The princess turned away so that he should not see her smile.