"Lil private stock, prince," and the gentleman winked again, this time with the original eye.
"Nectar, sir, if you will permit me to say so," affirmed Pete, with another bow. "But I regret to say that you have made a slight mistake. I am not a prince."
The gentleman smiled knowingly and made a gesture of deprecation.
"'Sall right, old man. My mistake. Liable to run into princes any time round here. Had prince callin' on my daughter 'safternoon. Just as soon have prince round as anybody. I'm liberal. Have li'l drink?"
Pete declined regretfully. His host placed bottle and siphon on a table with meticulous care.
"Listen, prince."
Pete checked him with an upraised hand.
"Merely a viscount, sir."
"Listen, viscount. Play a li'l cowboy pool?"
Pete considered. Clearly it would be inconsiderate to treat so benevolent a host in a churlish manner; yet there was a lady all in lace, sitting in a gloomy summer-house among the trees, who doubtless awaited his return with impatience and perhaps alarm.