"Really, child, I promised the duchess to go to her bazaar. I know you are going to play golf. No, I will not take this nasty mud bath--you must not insist--you must _not_!" "Well, I shall tell Dr. Krauss," said Verona, nodding her head, "you know you are dreadfully afraid of him." "I will take it to-morrow--really and truly--oh, truly, I give you my word! Look here, dearie, I cannot take Dog Darling to the bazaar. I think you might allow him to go with you to the Golf. Do!" "No, indeed, he fetches half the balls, then loses them, and disgraces me." "Oh, well, then I must ask Minette to get a fly and take him for a nice drive round Saarbruck. The air will do him good, poor darling!" CHAPTER IV The dinner at Ritter's proved a brilliant affair, but Sir Horace experienced an unexpected disappointment, when he discovered that instead of being a guest at a pleasant little informal meal, he and his nephew were two in a party of thirty. The menu was everything that a Homburg menu could, and should, be; the company were _crême de la crême_; but the crafty Baronet realised that this kind of entertainment afforded no opportunities to advance his schemes. He and Malcolm might as well have dined at their own hostelry--save that in that case, they would have been obliged to pay for their food. A long table, carefully screened from public gaze, was decorated with a profusion of roses and silver; the company were smart, and Madame herself was magnificent in black and gold, with touches of crimson--her natural taste was for the primary colours, and many jewels, but this weakness was sternly repressed by a strong-willed French maid. The hostess was supported by a titled guest on either hand, ate a hearty (and extremely unwholesome) meal, and enjoyed herself prodigiously. Sir Horace sat beside a talkative, elderly dame, a neighbour entirely after his own heart. They were in the same set, and exchanged quotations from letters, highly spiced morsels of gossip, and nodded and cackled, as they consumed various delicacies, and sipped dry champagne. Malcolm Haig was by no means so fortunate, for he was placed between a deaf man and a plain dowdy woman. Far, far away, on the opposite side of the table, he espied Miss Chandos--and the Prince--the former was more beautiful than ever without her hat; the wealth of her wonderful hair, exposed in all its glory, made a fitting frame for her brilliant face. She wore a gown of white lace, with long sleeves, a chain of splendid pearls, and to his romantic imagination seemed the dazzling embodiment of a princess in a fairy tale. The Prince, who was eating little, talked to her incessantly, enforcing his conversation with flashing eyes and quick, impassioned gestures.