This gentleman, the sole occupant, was distinguished by fiery moustachios and a squarely trimmed beard. My association with what O’Hagan terms “the lower journalism” has familiarised me with the faces of notabilities. “That is the Grand Duke John of Siresia,” I volunteered, idly. “So it is,” said O’Hagan with lively interest. “So it is!” And ere I could say another word he had stepped to the door of the car, opened it, and engaged the distinguished foreigner in conversation! Whilst I knew O’Hagan’s visiting-list to be extensive and peculiar, I hitherto had been unaware that he was acquainted with the Siresian autocrat. His action took me completely by surprise. Then, just as the policeman ahead released the pent-up traffic, my friend turned and beckoned to me. Full of a great wonder, I joined him at the open door. “Get in, Raymond!” he directed briefly, and thrust me, speechless with astonishment, into a seat opposite the great personage. The chauffeur glanced back. The footman leapt down and came to the step. As in a dream, I heard rapid, guttural instructions. The footman saluted and leapt to his place. The car moved smoothly onward. O’Hagan raised his monocle, gazing at the bearded nobleman; then waved it gracefully in my direction. “You may not have met my friend, Mr. Lawrence Raymond,” he said, with the lordly condescension which he, alone, knows how to assume. “Raymond—His Highness the Grand Duke John of Siresia!” ————— II. WE IMPROVE THE ACQUAINTANCE. O’Hagan’s friendship is a passport from the commonplace to the amazing. In acknowledgment of this off-handed introduction I bowed, and was mute. The Grand Duke nodded. His eyes constantly sought my nonchalant friend. “How fortunate,” said the latter smoothly, “that the traffic chanced to be delayed.” Bewildered, utterly, I acquitted myself of an ambiguous nod. “Where are they?” asked the Grand Duke suddenly. His delivery was thick, unmusical. “If you will be good enough to glance rearward,” replied O’Hagan, “you will perceive a car which is following closely!” We were, at that moment, turning around by Trafalgar Square; so that this prediction impressed me as being a peculiarly safe one. The Grand Duke, however, peering through a little window at the back, turned again to O’Hagan with palpable uneasiness. His heavy, dull features marked him a man of bulldog tenacity and autocratic stupidity. “A green car?” he inquired. O’Hagan, twisting about one finger the black ribbon attached to his monocle, inclined his head gravely. The tone of the Grand Duke’s query had been peremptory—that of one accustomed to command and to be slavishly obeyed. My friend’s mode of reply—the graceful and dignified inclination of the head, the lowering of the eyelids—had subtly defined, and with exquisite artistry, his attitude toward the Grand Duke.