"The Marquis of Chesterford is a very fortunate man," he said. "Decidedly I had better go away to-morrow."
Dodo felt annoyed with him. "I thought he was clever enough not to say that," she thought to herself.
"No, my dear Prince, you shall do nothing of the sort," she said. "You are very happy here, and I don't choose that you should go away—I tell you to stop. You said you would if I told you."
"I am a man of honour still," said he, with mock solemnity. He put both hands together and bowed. "I shall be the first to congratulate the Marquis," he said, "and may I hope the Marchioness will think with pity on those less fortunate than he."
Dodo smiled benignantly. He really had got excellent manners. The scene was artistic, and it pleased her.
"I should think you were too proud to accept pity," she said.
"Have you ever seen me other than humble—to you?" he asked.
"Take it then," said Dodo; "as much as your case requires. But I feel it is insolent of me to offer it."
"I take all the pity you have," said he, smiling gravely. "I want it more than any other poor devil you might think of bestowing it on."
He bowed himself gracefully out of the room. He and Dodo had been discussing English proverbs the day before, and Dodo asserted broadly that they were all founded on universal truths. The Prince thought that pity was quite a promising gift.