The Prince set down the receiver upon the instrument and stood for a moment deep in thought. It was a strange country, this,—a strange end which it seemed that he must prepare to face. He felt like the man who had gone out to shoot lions and returning with great spoil had died of the bite of a poisonous ant!
CHAPTER XXXI. GOODBYE!
The Prince on his return from the library intercepted Penelope on her way across the hall.
“Forgive me,” he said, “but I could not help overhearing some sentences of your conversation with Sir Charles Somerfield as we sat at dinner. You are going to talk with him now, is it not so?”
“As soon as he comes out from the dining room.”
He saw the hardening of her lips, the flash in her eyes at the mention of Somerfield’s name.
“Yes!” she continued, “Sir Charles and I are going to have a little understanding.”
“Are you sure,” he asked softly, “that it will not be a misunderstanding?”
She looked into his face.