“I will go and pay my respects to the Baroness,” he declared. “It will change my luck, perhaps. Au revoir!”
He passed out of the room and all eyes followed him.
“Has the Prince been losing again to-night?” the Baron asked.
One of the three men at the table shrugged his shoulders.
“He owes me about five hundred pounds,” he said, “and to tell you the truth, I’d really rather not play any more. I don’t mind high points, but his doubles are absurd.”
“Why not break up the table?” the Baron suggested. “The boy can scarcely afford such stakes.”
He strolled out of the room in time to meet the Prince, who was standing in the corridor. A glance at his face was sufficient—the secretary had spoken. He would have hurried off, but the Baron intercepted him.
“You are leaving, Prince?” he asked.
“Yes!” was the somewhat curt reply.
“I will walk a little way with you, if I may,” De Grost continued. “My wife brought Lady Brownloe, and the brougham only holds two comfortably.”