The Prince walked on, for a few steps, in silence.
“Mr. Vanderpole is a great friend of yours, Duchess?” he asked.
The Duchess shook her head.
“I do not know him very well,” she said. “I asked him for Penelope.”
The Prince looked puzzled.
“But I thought,” he said, “that Miss Morse and Sir Charles—”
The Duchess interrupted him with a smile.
“Sir Charles is very much in earnest,” she whispered, “but very very slow. Dicky is just the sort of man to spur him on. He admires Penelope, and does not mind showing it. She is such a dear girl that I should love to have her comfortably settled over here.”
“She is very intelligent,” the Prince said. “She is a young lady, indeed, for whom I have a great admiration. I am only sorry,” he concluded, “that I do not seem able to interest her.”
“You must not believe that,” the Duchess said. “Penelope is a little brusque sometimes, but it is only her manner.”