It was evening when the Princess appeared again. She came just as the clock was striking nine, and taking the American Ambassador’s arm, led the way in to dinner, which here was en famille, and without any ceremony of the Court.
“Tell me, Mr. Courtney, that I don’t look quite so foolish as I feel,” she laughed.
He let his eyes linger on her—this lovely woman who was a nation’s toast—the imperially poised head, with the glorious, gleaming hair, and the haughty, high-bred face that, when she willed, could be so sweet and tender; the slender, rounded figure in its soft white gown of clinging silk—he shook his gray head.
“If you feel as you look,” he answered, “you are not of this world, but of Paradise.”
“O——h, monsieur! and Lady Helen just across the table.”
He fingered his imperial a moment, then leaned close.
“Helen is an angel, too,” he said.
“You mean—?” she exclaimed.
He smiled. “Yes, I mean—on our ride this afternoon—but don’t tell it, now.”
She took his hand low under the board.