And he held out a card with a small gold crown emblazoned in the corner, after the mode of eastern Europe. Cartoner reflected for a moment, which was odd in a man whose decisions were usually arrived at with lightning speed. For he had a slow tongue and a quick brain. There are few better equipments with which to face the world.
“Yes,” he said at length; “it will give me much pleasure.”
The prince glanced at him curiously beneath his bushy eyebrows. What was there to need reflection in such a small question?
“At five o'clock,” he said. “We can give you a cup of the poisonous tea you drink in this country.”
And he went away laughing heartily at the small witticism. People whose lives are anything but a joke are usually content with the smallest jests.
It was scarcely five o'clock the next day when Cartoner was conducted by a page-boy to the Bukatys' rooms in the quiet old hotel in Kensington. The Princess Wanda was alone. She was dressed in black. There is in some Varsovian families a heritage of mourning to be worn until Poland is reinstated. She was slightly but strongly made. Like her father and her brother, there was a suggestion of endurance in her being, such as is often found in slightly made persons.
“I came as early as I could,” said Cartoner, and, as he spoke, the clock struck.
The princess smiled as she shook hands, and then perceived that she had not been intended to show amusement. Cartoner had merely made a rather naïve statement in his low monotone. She thought him a little odd, and glanced at him again. She changed color slightly as she turned towards a chair. He was quite grave and honest.
“That is kind of you,” she said, speaking English without the least suspicion of accent; for she had had an English governess all her life. “My father will take it to mean that you wanted to come, and are not only taking pity on lonely foreigners. He will be here in a minute. He has just been called away.”
“It was very kind of him to ask me to call,” replied Cartoner.