With him to the Duke’s ball came his boon companion, Mr. Woodhouse Adams, a gentleman whose claim to the regard of his familiars was based solidly on the fact that he knew a horse when he saw one; yet so great was his reserve that what he knew when he did not see a horse was a secret which Mr. Woodhouse Adams jealously guarded from even his most intimate friends. On this occasion, however, as they walked up the red carpet to the open doors of the house in the walled garden, Mr. Woodhouse Adams appeared to be unable to control a particular indignation, and presently spoke to the following effect: “If you ask my opinion, Condor, I think you are putting your jaws into the lion’s head.” “I gather,” said Lord Quorn, whose nickname took the peculiar form of Condor for reasons which are quite foreign to this story, “that you mean I am putting my head into the lion’s jaws. It may be so. But I tell you, Charles, that I am in love with this girl. At last, I am in love. And I am not going to miss the most slender chance of seeing her again--not to speak of my desire to take this unrivalled opportunity of paying my respects to her father with a view to a matrimonial entanglement.” “You’re not going to do that!” incredulously cried his friend. “Almost at once,” said Lord Quorn. “Gentlemen’s Cloak-Room on the left,” said a Hussar of Death or Honour. “Am I speaking to milord Quorn?” asked a page bearing a salver of gold. “You are, boy.” “Then I have the honour, milord, to be the bearer of a note to milord from my mistress, Her Select Highness the Princess Baba.” “Well, don’t shout the glad news all over the Cloak-Room,” said Mr. Woodhouse Adams. “Go tell Her Highness,” said my lord to the boy, “that I shall beg the honour of the first dance with her.” “Milord, I go!” said the page, and went. “I don’t like that boy,” said Mr. Woodhouse Adams. “This note,” said Lord Quorn, “touches me very nearly.” “Good Lord, Condor, she doesn’t want to borrow money from you already! Gad, my father was right when he told me on his death-bed never to have any financial dealings with Royalty. His exact words were: ‘It takes four Greeks to get the better of a Jew, three Jews to deal with an Armenian, two Armenians to a Scot, and the whole damn lot together to withstand the shock of Royalty in search of real-estate.’” “My friend, there is but a line in this letter, yet I would not exchange this one line for all the rhapsodies of the poets. For in this one line,” sighed Lord Quorn, “the Princess Baba tells me that she loves me.” “No girl,” gallantly admitted his friend, “can say fairer than that.” “It is certainly very encouraging,” said my lord. “Gentlemen’s Cloak-Room to the right!” said a Hussar of Death or Honour. “Thank you, we’ve been,” said Mr. Woodhouse Adams. “This way, _messieurs_!” said Baron Hugo von Müsselsaroffsir. “His Highness the Hereditary Grand Duke of Valeria will receive you at the head of the stairs.”