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"Have you seen him?"
"The Prince?"
"Yes. What is he like?"
"I've seen pictures of him," he equivocated. "Rather nice looking, I
should say."
"Of course he is like all foreign noblemen and will leap at the
Blithers millions if he gets the chance. I sometimes feel sorry for
the poor wretches." There was more scorn than pity in the way she
said it, however, and her velvety eyes were suddenly hard and
uncompromising.
He longed to defend himself, in the third person, but could not do so
for very strong and obvious reasons. He allowed himself the
privilege, however, of declaring that foreign noblemen are not always
as black as they are painted. And then, for a very excellent reason,
he contrived to change the subject by asking where she was going on
the continent.
"I may go to Vienna," she said, with a smile that served to puzzle
rather than to delight him. He was more than ever convinced that she
was playing with him. "But pray do not look so gloomy, Mr. Schmidt, I
shall not make any demands upon your time while I am there.


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