The prince looked, but there were so many gentlemen approaching from the same direction that he could not distinguish the especial person of whom the lady spoke.
Meanwhile the stranger in question came on, not pushing his way, but rather tacking, like a craft sailing against wind and tide, and suffering himself to be driven this way and that, but always slowly nearing “port.”
As he came on, the topic of the hour, the praises of the new beauty—the lovely Mrs. Wyvil—met his ears from all sides—her grace, her wit, her genius, her elegance, her accomplishments were the theme of the salon.
“Wyvil!” he said to himself—“Wyvil! the name is certainly not a common one! Who can she be, I wonder? An American, too! I must see this belle.”
The princess, still watching the approach of the stranger, turned to Lilith for an instant and said:
“My love, I wish you would speak to dear Aunt Sophie. There she sits, hiding behind you, quite neglected.”
Lilith at once turned around and opened a conversation with the good old lady by asking:
“What do you think of all this?”
“Oh, honey, I’m half scared and half delighted, you know. ’Pears to me I don’t know whether I’m in a dream of heaven!” replied the dazed and delighted old lady.
Meanwhile the stranger came up to the bridal group, bowed low before the princess, bowed to the prince, and then spoke the required words of congratulation, and was about to pass on and give place to others who were pressing forward to pay their respects when the princess, laying a light, detaining hand upon his arm, said: