Evelyn trembled visibly, but mastered her emotion, and received her royal visitor with graceful dignity. Though I perceived the Prince greatly desired my absence, I thought it wiser to remain with my friend, whose agitation I feared might be interpreted too favorably.
About ten minutes after the Prince’s arrival, another ring at the bell was heard. This time a well-known voice enquired—
“Is Mrs. Travers at home?”
A short colloquy with the servant followed, and we heard the door of the apartment closed. I looked towards Evelyn. Her vexation was so evident that the Prince asked if she were ill, I was obliged to come to the rescue—and declared, with truth, that she had kept her room the preceding day, and was scarcely sufficiently recovered to do the honors to His Royal Highness.
The Count took the hint, and paid us that time but a short visit. The moment he had quitted, the servant brought in on a small waiter, Col. Melville’s card, with P. P. C. in the corner. We questioned the man—
“Did the Colonel say he would call again?”
“No, signora.”
“Did he state when he was leaving?”
“No, signora.”
“Well then, what did he say?” I exclaimed, wishing to spare Evelyn the pain of asking.