“The accounts!” repeated His Highness sardonically. “’Tis the difference between them and what I am served with that I complain of.”
M. Heenvliet with difficulty controlled a hot answer.
M. Van Ghent picked up the gloves.
“What does Your Highness find fault with?” he asked.
“No gentleman in the Hague would wear them,” replied the Prince; “and I complain, Mynheer, of the insult offered me in providing them.”
“The gloves were bought after the pattern of others that have been to His Highness’ liking,” protested M. Heenvliet.
La Motte entered with another pair, white, trimmed with silver, that the Prince deigned to approve.
As he drew them on, his glance travelled from one to another with a malicious pleasure in the general discomfiture.
M. Van Ghent reprimanded M. Heenvliet, who in turn blamed the valet; Mr. Bromley looked uncomfortable.
William was the one unmoved; he even slightly smiled to see how red and annoyed was M. Van Ghent, and when he reflected how late they would be at the Binnenhof his smile deepened.