‘Oh, I always get tight
On a Saturday night,
And sober up on Sun-day,’
sang the Duke. Laughter followed with the confused thunder of an attempted chorus. Mr. Disturnal had shifted his other shoulder to the door-post and was looking in, with open mouth and delighted eye.
‘Isn’t it amusing?’ said Lady Lillico. ‘That tall man with the white moustache over there is Captain Howland-Bowser, quite a literary light. You know him? He married one of the Devonshire joneses; the Barley Castle joneses, you know, with a small j.’
Pendred passed at this moment, with a hungry lady of middle years hanging on his arm; he slapped the Prince familiarly on the shoulder as he went by. The awkwardness of their first encounter had been quite lived down by now.
‘Oh, please introduce me!’ begged the lady.
‘What, to the Prince?’ said Pendred. ‘Oh, you wouldn’t like him.’
‘I should love him.’
‘He has a most repulsive face.’