Saunders' smile faded, for there was still a touch of sadness in the girl's words. Under the circumstances it was not unnatural, but he thought it more considerate to keep the interview from developing on serious lines.
"The art of living is to choose one's memories," he said lightly. "He who has conquered his thoughts, has conquered a more wonderful country than Grimland."
"And so marriage has made of you a philosopher, Herr Saunders?" she returned, her soft lips curling a trifle contemptuously. "Well, perhaps you are right—if we take life as a jest, death, then, is only the peal of laughter that follows the jest." And then, turning to the American, she chided Saunders with: "But you have not presented your friend!"
"I must again crave pardon—I had quite forgotten him," apologised Saunders. "Your Highness, may I present my very good friend, Mr. George Trafford of New York—the winner of the King's Cup."
The American bowed low before this exquisite creature; then uplifting his head and shoulders and twirling his moustache—a habit he had when his emotions were at all stirred—he asked with true American directness:
"Am I speaking to a princess of the blood royal or to a princess of song?"
The princess and the Englishman quickly exchanged amused glances, and a moment later there came from the girl a ringing laugh, a delightful laugh bubbling over with humour, with not a hint of the sorrow or the bitterness of a few moments before, while Saunders hastened to say:
"Both, my American friend! You are addressing the high-born Princess Gloria von Schattenberg, cousin to his Majesty King Karl of Grimland!"
"Then I congratulate the high-born princess less on her high birth than on her inimitable gift of song," said the American gallantly.
The Princess acknowledged the felicitation with a bewitching smile.