I took Pembroke to the club that afternoon, and we dallied in the billiard room till time to dress for dinner.  Dinner came.  But Phyllis forgot to ask me about the story, at which I grew puzzled, considering what I know of woman’s curiosity.  And she devoted most of her time to Pembroke, who did not mind.  Later we went to the theatre—­some production of Gilbert and Sullivan.  Whenever I glanced at Phyllis I fell to wondering how Gretchen would have looked in evening dress.  Yes, Phyllis was certainly beautiful, uncommonly.  For years I had worshipped at her shrine, and then—­how little we know of the heart.  I was rather abstracted during the performance, and many of my replies went wide the mark.

As we were leaving the foyer, Phyllis said:  “Jack, a man has been staring me out of countenance.”

“Pembroke?” I laughed.

“No.  And moreover, the stare was accompanied by the most irritating sneer.”

“Point him out to me when we reach the street,” I said, humoring what I thought to be a fancy, “and I’ll put a head on him.”

The sneer was probably meant for an ogle.  Beauty has its annoyances as well as its compensations.  As we came under the glare of the outside lights, Phyllis’s hand tightened on my arm.

“Look! there he is, and he is making for us.”

At the sight of that face with its hooked nose, its waxed mustache and imperial, I took a deep breath and held it.  In the quick glance I saw that his right arm hung stiffly at his side.  I attempted to slip into the crowd, but without success.  He lifted his hat, smiling into the astonished face of Phyllis.

“The Princess Hildegarde—­” But with those three words the sentence on his lips came to an end.  Amazement replaced the smile.  He stepped back.  Phyllis’s eyes expressed scornful surprise.  What she understood to be rudeness I knew to be a mistake.  He had mistaken her to be Gretchen, just as I had mistaken Gretchen to be Phyllis.  It was a situation which I enjoyed.  All this was but momentary.  We passed on.

“Was the man crazy?” asked Phyllis, as we moved toward the carriages, where we saw Pembroke waving his hand.

“Not exactly crazy,” I answered.

“The Princess Hildegarde; did he not call me that?”

“He did.”

“He must have mistaken me for some one else, then.”

“The very thing,” said I.  “I wonder what he is doing here in London?”

“Mercy! do you know him?”

“Slightly.”  We were almost at the carriage.  “I am sorry to say that he is a great personage in this very court which you are so soon to grace.”

“How strange!  I’m afraid we shan’t get on.”

Pembroke and I dismissed our carriage.  We were going back to the club.  Ethel and her husband were already seated in their carriage.

Said Phyllis as I assisted her to enter; “And who is this Princess Hildegarde?”