"Oh, the little more and how much it is, And the little less and what worlds away." CHAPTER XIII ANNE EXHIBITS THE PRINCE Prince Koltsoff had enjoyed his luncheon, as only an exacting gourmet whose every canon of taste has been satisfied, can. His appetite was a many-stringed instrument upon which only the most gifted culinary artist could play. Now as he sat dallying daintily with his _compote_ of pears it was patent that Rambon, the Wellington chef, had achieved a dietary symphony. "Mrs. Wellington," he said at length, "you have a _saucier par excellence_. That _sauce de cavitar_! If I may say so, it lingers. Who is he? It seems almost--yet it cannot be true--that I recognize the genius of Jules Rambon." "Very well done, Prince Koltsoff," replied Mrs. Wellington, employing phraseology more noncommittal than Koltsoff realized. Anne, who had been gazing languidly out a window giving on Brenton's Reef lightship, where several black torpedo boats and destroyers were manoeuvring, smiled and glanced at the Prince. "You have the instincts of a virtuoso. That was really clever of you. The Duchess d'Izes sent him to mother two years ago. You must speak to him. I 'm afraid he feels he is not altogether appreciated here." The Prince raised his hands. "What a fate!" he exclaimed. "When Rambon was _chef_ for President Carnot, kings and emperors bestowed upon him decorations. I recall that when he created the _Parfait Rambon_--ah!--the governor of his Province set aside a day of celebration. Rambon unappreciated--it is to say that genius is unappreciated!" He turned apologetically to Mrs. Wellington. "America--what would you?" Mrs. Wellington sniffed ever so slightly. She had become a bit weary of the Russian's assumption of European superiority. She recognized that in Prince Koltsoff she had a guest, her possession of whom had excited among the cottage colony the envy of all those whose envy she desired. So far as she was concerned, that was all she wanted. Now that Anne and the Prince appeared to be hitting it off, she was content to let that matter take its course as might be, with, however, a pretty well defined conviction that her daughter was thoroughly alive to the desirability, not to say convenience, of such an alliance. In her secret heart, however, she rather marvelled at Anne's open interest in the Koltsoff. To be frank, the Prince was boring her and she had come to admit that she, personally, had far rather contemplate the noble guest as a far-distant son-in-law, than as a husband, assuming that her age and position were eligible. So--she sniffed. "My dear Prince," she said, "I will take you to a hundred tables in Newport and--I was going to say ten thousand--a thousand in New York, where the food is better cooked than in any private house in Europe." Touched upon a spot peculiarly tender, Koltsoff all but exploded. "_Pouf_!" he cried. Then he laughed heartily. "You jest, surely, my dear madame."