BUT first came Alice. Snow was upon her light fluffy hair and her long fur coat, and her cheeks were pink with the cold and her eyes bright with the excitement of this first meeting between father and fiancé. Next came her mother, her matronly figure amplified by her thick Russian coat, exultant satisfaction on her proud face—the sense of having triumphantly done the thing she had started out to do. And behind them came the prince, whom the two had met at the entrance of the hotel.
The great financier took the slender hand of his ancient-blooded son-in-law. He looked him keenly over, all the while the words of getting acquainted were being exchanged—looked him over with growing satisfaction. The prince was a man, despite his forty years, who well might capture a young girl’s fancy. He was straight, with the easy grace of a courtier, and wore a dark green uniform of a colonel of the Czar’s Guards, with a heavy festoon of gold braid across his breast and with high patent-leather boots. He was the acme of ancient lineage and high breeding; his face was pale, his lips and nostrils were thin, his black moustache had just the proper upward lift, his slight baldness only made more suggestive of power a forehead naturally large, and the great scar on his left cheek (a Heidelberg scar) that might have disfigured a coarser man only added to his distinguished air. Diplomat, soldier, art connoisseur, student, it was said of him that the Czar’s domain held no more polished gentleman. No wonder Alice admired and her father was satisfied; this was no mere hang-lipped, chinless, stuttering, penniless title.
After the formal words natural to the situation had all been said, the talk ran to other matters—first to the house party the prince was giving in the Howards’ honour, and then to a ball which they all expected to attend that night at the palace of Prince Valenko, the military governor.
Alice turned to Drexel. “You are fortunate, Henry, to get back in time to meet Princess Valenko.”
“I think I shall not go,” he returned. Only one woman interested him, and she was of a sort far different from this great lady.
“Not go!” cried his aunt. “You must not miss meeting the princess!”
“No,” added Alice, darting a quick look at the prince, “you must not fail to meet Princess Valenko.”
“And what is so wonderful about this Princess Valenko?” put in Mr. Howard.
“She’s the handsomest young woman in St. Petersburg—so they say,” returned Alice, with a sceptical toss of her head. “We’ve heard nothing but Princess Valenko ever since we entered Russia.”
Again she darted a look at Berloff. The prince knew well the meaning of this glance; it was an open secret that he had been a suitor for the princess, and she had refused him. But he met Alice’s challenging look with an impassive smile.