"Ah! tiens, my child! it was my kindness to say that she was out, knowing it was the hour of electricity. Once the knell of forty sounds we must have our faces recharged daily. The Prince is coming—look ye!"
Prince Fritz—young, fat, extremely volatile, a thorn in the side of his august mother and his wife—came tripping across the grass. He talked English with a strong accent, and he bemoaned the future when he must go home.
Yet, though Belle Bellew might box his ears later in a romp, she must bob to him now discreetly as she greeted him.
Prince Fritz boomed out content and delight. "There is no place such as this river house," he said, "none, fair lady." Then he looked round for the dancer, who was his special attraction.
"Don't be alarmed, sir—she arrives," mocked Mousie from her balcony, "she arrives. The revenues can continue to be squandered, and a nice little woman's heart torn by the snapshots she sees of you in the picture papers."
Prince Fritz grinned equably; he was not dignified.
"Like to see the river?" Gore Helmsley asked Sybil.
The girl was charming in her simple dress. Fresh and sweet and unspoiled, eagerly delighted with everything.
But down by gliding, stately Thames, Jimmie was fatherly. She must be careful here, keep quiet; a good deal of romping went on—and girls could not behave as married women could.
"I'm your godfather here, you see." His dark face came close to hers, showing the crinkles round his eyes, the hard lines near his mouth; but he was at the age girls delight to worship. Someone who knows the mysteries they only dream of; someone so different to honest, pleasant boys, who thought more of sport than their companions.