She reached the palace again in time to dress for dinner. Somewhere on that excursion she had left the letter, to be sent to its destination over the border by special messenger that night.
Prince Ferdinand William Otto, at the moment of her return, was preparing for bed. At a quarter to seven he had risen, bowed to Miss Braithwaite, said good-night, and disappeared toward his bedroom and his waiting valet. But a moment later he reappeared.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, “but I think your watch is fast.”
Miss Braithwaite consulted it. Then, rising she went to the window and compared at with the moonlike face of the cathedral clock.
“There is a difference of five minutes,” she conceded. “But I have no confidence in the cathedral clock. It needs oiling, probably. Besides, there are always pigeons sitting on the hands.”
“May I wait for five minutes?”
“What could you do in five minutes?”
“Well,” he suggested, rather pleadingly, “we might have a little conversation, if you axe not too tired.”
Miss Braithwaite sighed. It had been a long day and not a calm one, and conversation with His Highness meant questions, mostly.
“Very well,” she said.