healthy young Englishwoman, of aristocratic
parentage. Penelope, on the other hand, more simply dressed, save
for the string of pearls which hung from her neck, had the look of a
creature from another world. She had plenty of animation; a certain
nervous energy seemed to keep her all the time restless. She talked
ceaselessly, sometimes to the Prince, more often to Sir Charles. Her
gray-green eyes were bright, her cheeks delicately flushed. She spoke
and looked and moved as one on fire with the joy of life. The Prince,
noticing that Lady Grace had been left to herself for the last
few moments, moved a little towards her and commenced a courteous
conversation. Sir Charles took the opportunity to bend over his
companion.

"Penelope," he said, "you are queer tonight. Tell me what it is? You
don't really dislike the Prince, do you?"

"Why, of course not," she answered, looking back into the restaurant and
listening, as though interested in the music. "He is odd, though, isn't
he? He is so serious and, in a way, so convincing. He is like a being
transplanted into an absolutely alien soil. One would like to laugh at
him, and one can't."

"He is rather an anomaly," Sir Charles said, humming lightly to himself.
"I suppose, compared with us matter-of-fact people, he must seem to your
sex quite a romantic figure."

"He makes no particular appeal to me at all," Penelope declared.

Somerfield was suddenly thoughtful.

"Sometimes, Penelope," he said, "I don't quite understand you,
especially when we speak about the Prince. I have come to the conclusion
that you either like him very much, or you dislike him very much, or you
have some thoughts about him which you tell to no one."

She lifted her skirts. The carriage had been called.

"I like your last suggestion," she declared. "You may believe that that
is true."

On their way out, the Prince was accosted by some friends and remained
talking for several moments. When he entered the omnibus, there seemed
to Penelope, who found herself constantly watching him closely, a
certain added gravity in his demeanor. The drive to the theatre was a
short one, and conversation consisted only of a few disjointed remarks.
In the lobby the Prince laid his hand upon Somerfield's arm.

"Sir Charles," he said, "if I were you, I would keep that evening paper
in your pocket. Don't let the ladies see it."

Somerfield looked at him in surprise.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"To me person