“Henry is blinded by prejudice,” Dominey declared a little impatiently. “He cannot imagine a German who feasts with any one else but the devil.”
“Don't get annoyed, dear,” she begged, resting her fingers for a moment upon his coat sleeve. “I admire the Prince immensely. He is absolutely the only German I ever met whom one felt instinctively to be a gentleman.—Now what are you smiling at?”
Dominey turned a perfectly serious face towards her. “Not guilty,” he pleaded.
“I saw you smile.”
“It was just a quaint thought. You are rather sweeping, are you not, Caroline?”
“I'm generally right,” she declared.—“To return to the subject of Stephanie.”
“Well?”
“Do you know whom she mistook you for in the Carlton grill room?”
“Tell me?” he answered evasively.
“She mistook you for a Baron Leopold Von Ragastein,” Caroline continued drily. “Von Ragastein was her lover in Hungary. He fought a duel with her husband and killed him. The Kaiser was furious and banished him to East Africa.”