"What is she waiting for?" asked Priscilla quickly.
"Come now, she's your lady in waiting you know. It seems natural enough she should wait, don't it?"
"No," said Priscilla, knitting her eyebrows.
"Don't frown. She had to come too. She's brought some of your women and a whole lot"—he glanced at the blue serge suit and put his hand up to his moustache—"a whole lot of clothes."
"Clothes?" A wave of colour flooded her face. She could not help it at the moment any more than a starving man can help looking eager when food is set before him. "Oh," she said, "I hope they're the ones I was expecting from Paris?"
"I should think it very likely. There seem to be a great many. I never saw so many boxes for one little cousin."
Priscilla made a sudden movement with her hands. "You can't think," she said, "how tired I am of this dress."
"Yes I can," the Prince assured her.
"I've worn it every day."
"You must have."