Captain Wilmot hesitated. He was a peace-loving man, and, after all, Penelope and his friend were engaged.
“Perhaps Miss Morse—” he began.
Penelope turned upon him.
“I should like you all to understand,” she declared, “that every word I said came from my heart, and that I would say it again, and more, with the same provocation.”
There was a finality about Penelope’s words which left no room for further discussion. The little group was broken up. She and Lady Grace went to their rooms together.
“Penelope, you’re a dear!” the latter said, as they mounted the stairs. “I am afraid you’ve made Charlie very angry, though.”
“I hope I have,” Penelope answered. “I meant to make him angry. I think that such self-sufficiency is absolutely stifling. It makes me sometimes almost loathe young Englishmen of his class.”
“And you don’t dislike the Prince so much nowadays?” Lady Grace remarked with transparent indifference.
“No!” Penelope answered. “That is finished. I misunderstood him at first. It was entirely my own fault. I was prejudiced, and I hated to feel that I was in the wrong. I do not see how any one could dislike him unless they were enemies of his country. Then I fancy that they might have cause.”
Lady Grace sighed.