“I have heard it whispered,” the Duchess remarked, leaning forward, “that he is over here on an exceedingly serious mission. One thing is quite certain. No one from his country, or from any other country, for that matter, has ever been so entirely popular amongst us. He has the most delightful manners of any man I ever knew of any race.”
Sir Charles came up, with gloomy face, to claim a dance. After it was over, he led Penelope back to her aunt almost in silence.
“You are dancing again with the Prince?” he asked.
“Certainly,” she answered. “Here he comes.”
The Prince smiled pleasantly at the young man, who towered like a giant above him, and noticed at once his lack of cordiality.
“I am selfish!” he exclaimed, pausing with Penelope’s hand upon his coat sleeve. “I am taking you too much away from your friends, and spoiling your pleasure, perhaps, because I do not dance. Is it not so? It is your kindness to a stranger, and they do not all appreciate it.”
“We will go into the winter garden and talk it over,” she answered, smiling.
They found their old seats unoccupied. Once more they sat and listened to the fall of the water.
“Prince,” said Penelope, “there is one thing I have learned about you this evening, and that is that you do not love questions. And yet there is one other which I should like to ask you.”
“If you please,” the Prince murmured.