“That is very true,” said Lord Roehampton, “truer perhaps than you imagine.” Then rather abruptly he said, “You know Colonel Albert very well?”
“Pretty well. I have seen him here frequently, and he is also a friend of my brother.”
“Ah! a friend of your brother.” Then, after a slight pause, he said, “He is an interesting man.”
“I think so,” said Myra. “You know all about him, of course.”
“Very good-looking.”
“Well, he looks unhappy, I think, and worn.”
“One is never worn when one is young,” said Lord Roehampton.
“He must have great anxieties and great sorrows,” said Myra. “I cannot imagine a position more unfortunate than that of an exiled prince.”
“I can,” said Lord Roehampton. “To have the feelings of youth and the frame of age.”
Myra was silent, one might say dumbfounded. She had just screwed herself up to the task which Mr. Neuchatel had imposed on her, and was about to appeal to the good offices of Lord Roehampton in favour of the prince, when he had indulged in a remark which was not only somewhat strange, but from the manner in which it was introduced hardly harmonised with her purpose.