“Well, how are you getting on, old chap?” he whispered in his ear.
Densham started, and looked at Harcutt in blank surprise.
“Why, how the—excuse me, how on earth did you get in?” he exclaimed.
Harcutt smiled in a mysterious manner.
“Oh! we journalists are trained to overcome small difficulties,” he said airily. “It wasn’t a very hard task. The Morning is a pretty good passport. Getting in was easy enough. Where is—she?”
Densham moved his head in the direction of the broad space at the head of the stairs, where the Ambassador and his wife had received their guests.
“She is under the special wing of the Princess. She is up at that end of the room somewhere with a lot of old frumps.”
“Have you asked for an introduction?”
Densham nodded.
“Yes, I asked young Lobenski. It is no good. He does not know who she is; but she does not dance, and is not allowed to make acquaintances. That is what it comes to, anyway. It was not a personal matter at all. Lobenski did not even mention my name to his mother. He simply said a friend. The Princess replied that she was very sorry, but there was some difficulty. The young lady’s guardian did not wish her to make acquaintances for the present.”