He had deep fine tones; truly Russian tones, with a subtle vibration in them.
"Because when such things are published about people their secretaries usually put them in," returned the girl.
He was silent a moment; Mr. Heatherbloom thought he heard the breaking of the stem of a flower.
"You were very much irritated—angry?" observed the prince at length, quietly.
"Weren't you?" she asked.
"I? No. It is a bourgeois confession, perhaps."
Mr. Heatherbloom sat up straighter; the water dripped from his fingers.
"I was pleased," went on the sonorous low voice. "I wished—it were so!"
There was a sudden movement in the conservatory; a rustling of leaves, or of a gown; then—Mr. Heatherbloom relaxed in surprise—a peal of merry laughter filled the air.
"How apropos! How well you said that!"