"Morally as well as sartorially?" he asked.
There was a moment's rather queer silence. The music rose above the hubbub of voices and died away again. Louise rose to her feet.
"Quite an intelligent person, really," she said, moving her head in the direction of the prince. "His little attacks of cynicism come only with indigestion or after absinth. Now, if you like, you shall escort me home, Mr. Strangewey. I want to show him exactly where I live," she explained, addressing the others, "so that he will have no excuse for not coming to pay his respects to me to-morrow afternoon."
The prince, with a skilful maneuver, made his way to her side as they left the restaurant.
"To-morrow afternoon, I think you said?" he repeated quietly. "You will be in town then?"
"Yes, I think so."
"You have changed your mind, then, about—"
"M. Graillot will not listen to my leaving London," she interrupted rapidly. "He declares that it is too near the production of the play. My own part may be perfect, but he needs me for the sake of the others. He puts it like a Frenchman, of course."
They had reached the outer door, which was being held open for them by a bowing commissionnaire. John and Sophy were waiting upon the pavement. The prince drew a little back.
"I understand!" he murmured.