“Failed! What an ugly word! He is old, and he limps, and I—well, I was never a very bashful person. He was beautifully polite, but he wouldn’t have anything to say to me.”
She began to tear open her letters savagely.
“Well, it is over. If ever anybody speaks to me about it I think that I shall kill them. That fool Saxe Leinitzer will stroke his beastly moustache, and smile at me out of the corners of his eyes. The Dorset woman, too—bah, I shall go away. What is it, Annette?”
“His Highness the Prince of Saxe Leinitzer has called, milady.”
“Called! Does he regard this as a call?” she exclaimed, glancing towards the clock. “Tell him, Annette, that your mistress does not receive at such an hour. Be quick, child. Of course I know that he gave you a sovereign to persuade me that it was important, but I won’t see him, so be off.”
“But yes, milady,” Annette answered, and disappeared.
Lady Carey sipped her coffee.
“I think,” she said reflectively, “that it must be Melton.”
Annette reappeared.
“Milady,” she exclaimed, “His Highness insisted upon my bringing you this card. He was so strange in his manner, milady, that I thought it best to obey.”