Ermyntrude had now to present him to the Prince. They made a sufficiently odd contrast, the one so thin, and handsome, and smiling, the other stocky, and rugged, and a little grim. Mary, who knew, and was sorry for, Steel's silent adoration of Ermyntrude, was not surprised to see him look more uncompromising than usual, for Ermyntrude was hanging on the Prince's lips. To make matters worse, Wally, although he had not lingered over the port, had fortified himself with a good many drinks before dinner, and was now looking a little blear-eyed. Steel's lips had tightened when his glance had first fallen on him, and beyond giving him a curt good-evening he had not again addressed him.
If Vicky's aim had been to provoke an atmosphere of constraint, she had succeeded admirably, Mary reflected. Nor, having introduced Steel into the party, did she show the least disposition to try to ease the tension. She remained standing backed against the amber-silk curtains, beside the radio, which she had turned down until the music became a faint undercurrent, a murmur behind the voices. It was left to the Prince to set the party at its ease, which outwardly he did, to Ermyntrude's satisfaction, and Steel's silent annoyance.
"Well, Bob, how are the crops and things?" inquired Ermyntrude kindly. "Mr. Steel," she added, turning to the Prince, "farms his own land, you know."
"I'm a farmer," stated Steel, somewhat pugnaciously disclaiming the implied suggestion that he toiled for his pleasure.
"Ah, perfectly!" smiled the Prince. "Alas, I find myself wholly ignorant of the art!"
"Precious little art about it," said Steel. "Hard work's more like it."
From her stance beyond the group, Vicky spoke thoughtfully. "I think there's something rather frightening about farming."
"Frightening?" repeated Steel.
"Primordial," murmured Vicky. "The struggle against Nature, savagery of the soil."
"What on earth are you talking about?" Steel demanded. "I never heard such rot!"