He bent towards her with troubled face.

“Dear Duchess,” he said, “believe me, I am conscious of my fault.  An unexpected matter, which required my personal attention, presented itself at the last moment.  I think I can assure you that nothing of its sort was ever accomplished so quickly.  It would only weary you if I tried to explain.”

“Please don’t,” the Duchess begged, “so long as you are here at last.  And after all, you see, you are not the worst sinner.  Mr. Vanderpole has not yet arrived.”

The Prince walked on, for a few steps, in silence.

“Mr. Vanderpole is a great friend of yours, Duchess?” he asked.

The Duchess shook her head.

“I do not know him very well,” she said.  “I asked him for Penelope.”

The Prince looked puzzled.

“But I thought,” he said, “that Miss Morse and Sir Charles—­”

The Duchess interrupted him with a smile.

“Sir Charles is very much in earnest,” she whispered, “but very very slow.  Dicky is just the sort of man to spur him on.  He admires Penelope, and does not mind showing it.  She is such a dear girl that I should love to have her comfortably settled over here.”

“She is very intelligent,” the Prince said.  “She is a young lady, indeed, for whom I have a great admiration.  I am only sorry,” he concluded, “that I do not seem able to interest her.”

“You must not believe that,” the Duchess said.  “Penelope is a little brusque sometimes, but it is only her manner.”

They made their way through the foyer to the round table which had been reserved for them in the centre of the restaurant.

“I suppose I ought to apologize for giving you dinner at such an hour,” the Duchess remarked, “but it is our theatrical managers who are to blame.  Why they cannot understand that the best play in the world is not worth more than two hours of our undivided attention, and begin everything at nine or a quarter-past, I cannot imagine.”

The Prince smiled.

“Dear Duchess,” he said, “I think that you are a nation of sybarites.  Everything in the world must run for you so smoothly or you are not content.  For my part, I like to dine at this hour.”

“But then, you take no luncheon, Prince,” Lady Grace reminded him.

“I never lunch out,” the Prince answered, “but I have always what is sufficient for me.”

“Tell me,” the Duchess asked, “is it true that you are thinking of settling down amongst us?  Your picture is in the new illustrated paper this week, you know, with a little sketch of your career.  We are given to understand that you may possibly make your home in this country.”

The Prince smiled, and in his smile there seemed to be a certain mysticism.  One could not tell, indeed, whether it came from some pleasant thought flitting through his brain, or whether it was that the idea itself was so strange to him.