Ermyntrude, meanwhile, had led her guest upstairs to the best spare room, and had expressed an anxious hope that he would be comfortable there. As the apartment was extremely spacious, and furnished in the height of luxury, it seemed probable that he would be; but Ermyntrude, with purely British ideas about princes, could never see her Alexis without also perceiving an entirely apocryphal background of wealth, palaces, and royal purple.
He assured her that his comfort was a foregone conclusion, and she made haste to point out to him that a private bathroom led out of the apartment, and that if he wanted anything he had only to touch the bell.
He waved away the suggestion that he could want anything more than had been provided, and once more kissed her hand, saying, as he retained it in his clasp: "Now, at last, I see you in your own setting! You must let me tell you that it is charming. And you! so beautiful! so gracious!"
No one had ever talked to Ermyntrude in this way, not even the late Geoffrey Fanshawe, in the first flush of his infatuation for her. She had, in fact, been more used to listen to strictures upon her lack of breeding; and, being a very humble-minded woman, had always accepted her neighbours' obvious valuation of her as the true one. It was, therefore, delightful to hear herself extolled, and by no less a person than a prince; and she made no attempt either to draw her hand away, or to discourage further flattery. She even blushed rather prettily under her rouge and her powder, and inquired artlessly whether Alexis thought that the setting became her.
"You are so many-sided: everything becomes you! You would be beautiful in a garret," he replied earnestly. "Yet - I may say it? - always since I have first seen you, I have felt that something there is lacking in your life. I think you are not understood. You have never been understood. On the surface you are so gay that everyone says: "She has everything to make her happy, the beautiful Mrs. Carter: a husband, a lovely daughter, much money, much beauty!" It is perhaps only I who have seen behind the sparkle in those eyes, something - how shall I express it? - of loneliness, of a soul that is not guessed at, even by those who stand nearest to you."
This was most gratifying, and although Ermyntrude had not previously suspected that she was misunderstood, she began to realise that it was so, and reflected that one of the more attractive attributes of foreign gentlemen was their subtle perception. She gave a faint sigh, and bestowed upon the Prince a very speaking glance. "It's funny, isn't it?" she said. "I seemed to know, right at the start, that you were what I call understanding."
He pressed her hand. "There is a bond of sympathy between us. You too are aware of it, for you are not like the rest of your country-women."
Ermyntrude believed firmly that England was the best country in the world, and the English immeasurably superior to any other race, but she accepted this remark as a compliment, as indeed it was meant to be, and at once began to enumerate the characteristics that made her different from her compatriots. These were many, and varied from a hatred of tweeds and brogue shoes, to a sensitiveness of soul, which was hidden (as Alexis had so rightly supposed) under a cheerful demeanour, and a tolerance of foreigners rarely to be met with in other Englishwomen.
"You are a true cosmopolitan," the Prince assured her.
Ermyntrude would have been perfectly happy to have continued this conversation indefinitely, but at that moment the Prince's suitcases were borne into the room, so she rather regretfully withdrew.