Mr. Bromley emptied his can, threw the last handful of grain to the greedy pigeons and closed the window.
“His Highness will be disappointed,” he remarked. He looked cheerfully at Florent. “Are you glad to have left Berlin?”
“I am glad to return to the Hague.”
Mr. Bromley leant against the window frame and observed him.
He could find no change whatever in him. Florent Van Mander appeared, as formerly, an alert, reserved, grave young man—a dull fellow Mr. Bromley called him inwardly.
“The Prince was expecting M. Bentinck to-night,” he said.
“M. Bentinck is furious at the mischance that keeps him——”
“He was glad to be recalled?”
“Naturally—does it not show the altered position of the Prince that he can recall him?”
Mr. Bromley moved to the oak overmantel and took from it a blue pot of deep red tulips that he placed on the table by the window.