"Oh, please don't be harsh with him," she pleaded. The smile of the Iron Count was not at all reassuring. "I know he will be sorry for what he has done, and you—"
"I am quite sure he will be sorry," said he, with a most agreeable bow in submission to her appeal.
"Do you want to see Mr. Lorry?" she asked quickly. "I will send for him, general." She was at the door, impatient to be with the banished culprits.
"My business with Mr. Lorry can wait," he began, with a smile meant to be inviting, but which did not impress her at all pleasantly.
"Well, anyway, I'll tell him you're here," she said, her hand on the door-knob. "Will you wait here? Good-bye!" And then she was racing off through the long halls and up broad stair-cases toward the boudoir of the princess. There is no telling how long the ruffled count remained in the ante-room, for the excited Beverly forgot to tell Lorry that he was there.
There were half a dozen people in the room when Beverly entered eagerly. She was panting with excitement. Of all the rooms in the grim old castle, the boudoir of the princess was the most famously attractive. It was really her home, the exquisite abiding place of an exquisite creature. To lounge on her divans, to loll in the chairs, to glide through her priceless rugs was the acme of indolent pleasure. Few were they who enjoyed the privileges of "Little Heaven," as Harry Anguish had christened it on one memorable night, long before the princess was Mrs. Grenfall Lorry.
"Now, how do you feel?" cried the flushed American girl, pausing in the door to point an impressive finger at the princess, who was lying back in a huge chair, the picture of distress and annoyance.
"I shall never be able to look that man in the face again," came dolefully from Yetive's humbled lips. Dagmar was all smiles and in the fittest of humors. She was the kind of a culprit who loves the punishment because of the crime.
"Wasn't it ridiculous, and wasn't it just too lovely?" she cried.
"It was extremely theatrical," agreed Beverly, seating herself on the arm of Yetive's chair and throwing a warm arm around her neck. "Have you all heard about it?" she demanded, naively, turning to the others, who unquestionably had had a jumbled account of the performance.