TWO CALLS FROM THE ENEMY
Deppingham was up and about quite early the next morning—that is, quite early for him. He had his rolls and coffee and strolled out in the shady park for a smoke. The Princess, whose sense of humiliation had not been lessened by the fitful sleep of the night before, was walking in the shade of the trees on the lower terrace, beyond the fountains and the artificial lake. A great straw hat, borrowed from Lady Agnes, shaded her face from the glare of the mid-morning sun. Farther up the slope, one of the maids was playing with the dogs. She waved her hand gaily and paused to wait for him.
"I was thinking of you," she said in greeting, as he came up.
"How nice you are," he said. "But, my dear, is it wise in you to be thinking of us handsome devils? It's a most dangerous habit—thinking of other men."
"But, Deppy, dear, the Prince isn't here," she said, falling into his humour. "That makes quite a difference, doesn't it?"
"Your logic is splendid. Pray resume your thoughts of me—if they were pleasant and agreeable. I'll not blow on you to Karl."
"I was just thinking what a lucky fellow you are to have such a darling as Agnes for a wife."
"You might as well say that Agnes ought to feel set up because Pong has a nice coat. By the way, I have a compliment for you—no, not one of their beastly trade-lasts! Browne says your hair is more beautiful than Pong's. That's quite a compliment, Titian never even dreamed of hair like Pong's."
"You know, Deppy," she said with a pout, "I am very unhappy about my hair. It is quite red. I don't see why I should have hair like that of a red cocker. It seems so animalish."
"Rubbish! Why should you complain? Look at my hair. It's been likened more than once to that of a jersey cow."