“May I inquire what you are going to do now?”
“Oh, I am sailing for home on the Umbria from Liverpool on Saturday morning. I haven’t seen my people for two years. What I shall do when I get there is hard to say.”
“May I be permitted to ask a question?” The voice came from a young, red-haired dapper little fellow with an upturned nose on which were placed thick eye-glasses.
“Certainly, Mr. Witherspoon.”
“You must have driven at a break-neck speed. Were the ladies frightened?”
John smiled at the inanity of the question. “I was hardly in a position to know. As you say, we rode fast and I sat with the driver, so there was not much opportunity for conversation. The only occasion for talk was when we took the train for Vienna.”
“How did the Princess appear to you, Mr. Morton?” Mr. Witherspoon was insistent.
“The Princess appears to be a very noble and serious-minded young woman. Perhaps I am wrong in using the word woman—she looked so young.”
“The Almanach de Gotha gives her age as nineteen.”
“Well, the Almanach de Gotha ought to know—the poor thing does not look it.”