There was a moment of intense silence. In some ways it was immaterial to Dalroy what social position had been filled by the woman he loved. But, in others, the discovery that Irene was actually the aristocrat she looked was a very vital and serious thing. It made clear the meaning of certain references to distinguished people, both in Germany and in England, which had puzzled him at times. Transcending all else in importance, it might even safeguard her from German malevolence, since the Teuton pays an absurd homage to mere rank.
“I did not know,” he said, and his voice was not so thoroughly under control as he desired.
Von Halwig laughed loudly. “Almächtig!” he spluttered, “our smart corporal of hussars seems to have spoiled a romance. What a pity! You’ll be shot before midnight, my gallant captain, but the lady will be sent to Berlin with the utmost care. Even I, who have an educated taste in the female line, daren’t wink at her. Has she never told you why she bolted in such a hurry?”
“No.”
“Never hinted that a royal prince was wild about her?”
“No.”
“Well, you have my word for it. Himmel! women are queer.”
“She has suffered much to escape from your royal prince.”
“She’ll be returned to him now, slightly soiled, but nearly as good as new.”