"Isn't that the royal family of Italy?" he asked. He rose and went over to it. "By Jove, it is, and here is the prince in the group. The picture was taken, I should say, about the time I knew him."
Mr. Grimm strolled over idly and stood for a long time staring at the photograph.
"He can drive a motor, you know," said Mr. Cadwallader admiringly. "And Italy is the place to drive them. They forgot to make any speed laws over there, and if a chap gets in your way and you knock him silly they arrest him for obstructing traffic, you know. Over here if a chap really starts to go any place in a hurry some bally idiot holds him up."
"Have you ever been held up?" queried Mr. Grimm.
"No, but I expect to be every day," was the reply. "I've got a new motor, you know, and I've never been able to see how fast it is. The other evening I ran up to Baltimore with it in an hour and thirty-seven minutes from Alexandria to Druid Hill Park, and that's better than forty miles. I never did let the motor out, you know, because we ran in the dark most of the way."
Mr. Grimm was still gazing at the photograph.
"Did you go alone?" he asked.
"There's no fun motoring alone, you know. Señorita Rodriguez was with me. Charming girl, what?"
A little while later Mr. Grimm sauntered out into the drawing-room and made his way toward Miss Thorne and the French ambassador. Monsieur Boisségur rose, and offered his hand cordially.
"I hope, Monsieur," said Mr. Grimm, "that you are no worse off for your—your unpleasant experience?"