“But you don’t need a private interview for that.”
“I have never asked for a private interview, sir. I shall be delighted to ask her the questions in the presence of yourself and Ladoguin and the full staff of both Consulates.”
“Well, perhaps Lady Francis and Madame Ladoguin would be sufficient for the purpose, and less alarming to the young lady,” chuckled Sir Frank. “I’ll see about it, then. You leave the matter in my hands, and don’t hang about the Scythian Consulate meanwhile—you understand?”
Wylie acquiesced and departed, to rage furiously over the matter in the hearing of Armitage, who was still waiting at Therma to see him through his troubles, and incidentally to make Emathian sketches for the ‘Plastic.’ He listened placidly to Wylie’s wrathful declaration—when his fury at the absolute injustice and stupidity of the accusation allowed him intelligible utterance—that he had been made to look a fool before the whole city. Not even the suggestion of ungentlemanly behaviour appeared to sting him so deeply as the charge of having fallen in love with Eirene.
“Calm yourself,” said the artist coolly, when Wylie had anathematised all concerned to an extent that seemed to him sufficient. “You are the lion in the net; well, will you allow me the honour of being the mouse?”
“What’s this?” growled Wylie, taking up the large envelope addressed to Eirene which his friend placed before him.
“That is a letter from Princess Florence, Duchess of Inverness, introducing an English artist of the name of Armitage to the Princess Eirene Féofan, whom H.R.H. met in France in the spring.”
“And how in the world did you get to know the Duchess of Inverness?”
“I really don’t know, unless I say like the old Italian chap, ‘I also am a painter.’ I had the cheek to ask for a letter in her own writing, lest the Ladoguins should suppress it and answer it themselves, like yours. Of course, I didn’t say why I was so anxious to see Princess Eirene, but the lady-in-waiting says that the Duchess has suggested she should let me wait upon her with my sketches, and perhaps paint her portrait if she happens to want it done. So I suppose she thinks I’m hard up.”
“Well, and am I to go instead of you?” demanded Wylie.