“I suppose I ought to apologize for giving you dinner at such an hour,” the Duchess remarked, “but it is our theatrical managers who are to blame. Why they cannot understand that the best play in the world is not worth more than two hours of our undivided attention, and begin everything at nine or a quarter-past, I cannot imagine.” The Prince smiled. “Dear Duchess,” he said, “I think that you are a nation of sybarites. Everything in the world must run for you so smoothly or you are not content. For my part, I like to dine at this hour.” “But then, you take no luncheon, Prince,” Lady Grace reminded him. “I never lunch out,” the Prince answered, “but I have always what is sufficient for me.” “Tell me,” the Duchess asked, “is it true that you are thinking of settling down amongst us? Your picture is in the new illustrated paper this week, you know, with a little sketch of your career. We are given to understand that you may possibly make your home in this country.” The Prince smiled, and in his smile there seemed to be a certain mysticism. One could not tell, indeed, whether it came from some pleasant thought flitting through his brain, or whether it was that the idea itself was so strange to him. “I have no plans, Duchess,” he said. “Your country is very delightful, and the hospitality of the friends I have made over here is too wonderful a thing to be described; but one never knows.” Lady Grace bent towards Sir Charles, who was sitting by her side. “I can never understand the Prince,” she murmured. “Always he seems as though he took life so earnestly. He has a look upon his face which I never see in the faces of any of you other young men.” “He is a bit on the serious side,” Sir Charles admitted. “It isn’t only that,” she continued. “He reminds me of that man whom we all used to go and hear preach at the Oratory. He was the same in the pulpit and when one saw him in the street. His eyes seemed to see through one; he seemed to be living in a world of his own.” “He was a religious Johnny, of course,” Sir Charles remarked. “They do walk about with their heads in the air.” Lady Grace smiled. “Perhaps it is religion with the Prince,” she said,--“religion of a sort.” “I tell you what I do think,” Sir Charles murmured. “I think his pretence at having a good time over here is all a bluff. He doesn’t really cotton to us, you know. Don’t see how he could. He’s never touched a polo stick in his life, knows nothing about cricket, is indifferent to games, and doesn’t even understand the meaning of the word ‘Sportsman.’ There’s no place in this country for a man like that.” Lady Grace nodded. “I think,” she said, “that his visit to Europe and his stay amongst us is, after all, in the nature of a pilgrimage. I suppose he wants to carry back some of our civilization to his own people.” Penelope, who overheard, laughed softly and leaned across the table.