It was almost dark when we arose to take our leave after a most pleasant afternoon. Nick, true to his Bharbazonian instinct, made his leave-taking consist of a sweeping bow, but I put out my hand in American fashion.
"Good-bye, your Highness," I said, "I trust that we will see you soon again."
She hesitated for the fraction of a second before extending her hand. Perhaps she was not familiar with hand-shaking as a leave-taking habit. For the first time during the afternoon she seemed timid. When I released her hand the arm fell to her side. "Oh!" she exclaimed as if in pain, although I could have sworn that I had not used more strength in my leave-taking than one would with a Dresden doll.
But, when I reached the door and bowed myself across the threshold, she was standing by her chair smiling brightly.
"Good-bye," she said, "I have had such a pleasant afternoon. Please do not cherish resentment and come to the castle. The Prince and I will be glad to see you both. I shall tell father he must apologize."
She came to the door and watched us mount and put our horses over the hedge. We both waved our hands to her as the bend in the road shut her from view.
It wasn't until we turned in at Framkor gate that a possible explanation of the significance of Solonika's suppressed cry of pain came home to me and I exclaimed aloud:
"It was the right arm of the Prince that was dislocated!"
"Well," said Nick, "and what of that?"
CHAPTER VII