M. Heenvliet, who had been sent by the Prince’s tutor, entering at the moment, interrupted—
“The coach is ready, Your Highness, and M. Van Ghent is waiting.”
William gave him a half glance.
“Why, so you said.” He turned to Mr. Bromley. “Fetch La Motte.”
Matthew Bromley hesitated; but there was a set to the Prince’s cleft chin intimating to those who knew him that his mood was to override opposition.
Mr. Bromley obeyed.
William pulled off the white glove, and when the valet entered the room turned to him angrily—
“Who bought these?”
“Mynheer Heenvliet, Highness.”