Mrs. Wellington did not smile. She was eying her daughter curiously. "I want you and the Prince to become good friends," she said.
"That will depend upon whether he can gracefully explain his mysterious presence in Newport the past week," replied the girl laughingly. Suddenly her face grew grave. "What do you mean, mother?"
"Merely that I expect—that Prince Koltsoff hopes"—and under her daughter's steady gaze, she did something she had done but once or twice in her life—floundered and then paused.
The girl's lip curled, not mirthfully.
"Ah, I begin to understand," she said. "Prince Koltsoff's visit was conceived hardly in the nature of ordinary social emprise."
"Now, please don't go on, Anne," said the mother. "I have expressed nothing but a wish, have I? Wait until you know him."
"But you said Koltsoff had expressed a—a—"
"A hope, naturally. He saw Sargent's portrait of you in London."
"How romantic! I do not wonder you couldn't sleep, mother."
"Perhaps there were other reasons. Who was the man you ensnared outside?"