"You're quite right, Sydney," Prince Ali accepted the return of his gauntlet. "I have so few friends that one more," he clasped Lord Sydney's hand, "has the larger place in a full heart. I shall remember."
Just then an Equerry came down the stairway, and gave to MacNeill a letter from her Majesty to be despatched. The trooper, muttering wrathfully, set on his helmet, took up his gloves and sword, and swaggered away down the stairs. Without, they heard his horse dancing with excitement, break off at a canter into the distance. Sydney and the Prince laughed together.
"Maharajah," my Lord Sydney laid his hands very tenderly upon Ali's shoulders. "Do you believe that I am your friend?"
"Surely you have proved it more than once."
"Will you promise me not to be offended if I ask a still more personal question than even MacNeill dared?"
The beautiful dark eyes glowed. "Go on, my dear Sydney."
"What if I hurt, Maharajah? Your heart has changed to us since you came to England; you know now that we are not all brutes. You know that some of us, unbelievers, are not to be bought?"
"What do you mean?" An ominous flush burned in Prince Ali's face.
"When you bought my father with two million pounds, did you know where the money came from?"
Under the dark skin came pallor, and concentrated rage leaped to Prince Ali's eyes, as he recoiled.