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Updated: June 13, 2025
Somerfield, who was sitting on her other side, insisted at last upon diverting her attention. "Penelope," he declared, lowering his voice a little, "it isn't fair. You never have a word to say to me when the Prince is here." She smiled. "You must remember that he is going away very soon, Charlie," she reminded him. "Good job, too!" Somerfield muttered, sotto voce.
"I am sorry," the Prince declared. "I have no doubt, however, but that Miss Morse will induce you to change your mind. I should regret your absence the more," he continued, "because this, I fear, is the last visit which I shall be paying in this country." Somerfield was genuinely interested. "You are really going home?" he asked eagerly. "Almost at once," the Prince answered.
"As I said, every one bowed down and of course so did I, on general principles. Somerfield didn't and the old buck whirled that bull-roarer over him ever so long, and the red-eyed hag cursed and spat at him, but he never budged. That sort of conduct is damned foolishness according to my notion.
"Charlie," she said, "you are talking like a baby! I am ashamed of you! I am ashamed of you all! You are talking like narrow-minded, ignorant little squireens." Somerfield went slowly white. He looked across at Penelope, but the angry flash in his eyes was met by an even brighter light in her own. "I will tell you what I think!" she exclaimed.
Somerfield hesitated to complete his sentence, and the Duke once more intervened. "What Somerfield was thinking, my dear Prince," he said, "was that a steeplechase course, as they ride in this country, needs some knowing. You have never been on my daughter's mare before." The Prince smiled. "So far as I am concerned," he said, "that is of no account.
Now like me, he had worked for the Exploration Company a good few years and had been to all kinds of places prospecting. Torres Straits, the Gold Coast, Madagascar, Patagonia. We prospectors have to get around in queer corners and the life's a dull one. All monotony. But Somerfield had queer notions.
He is rich, of old family, popular with everybody, a great sportsman, a mighty hunter. These are the things which go to the making of a man, are they not?" "Beyond a doubt," the Prince answered gravely. "They go to the making of a man. It is as you say." "You like him personally, don't you?" she asked. "Sir Charles Somerfield and I are almost strangers," the Prince replied.
I had to almost drag him in there. I was pretty well a stranger in Washington, but he didn't do a thing for me. Never asked me to look him up, or introduced me to his club. He just drank his cocktail, mumbled something about being in a hurry, and made off. "I tell you, sir," Mr. Coulson continued, turning to Somerfield, "that man hadn't a thing to say for himself.
A gentleman's visiting card informed him that his other caller was Sir Charles Somerfield, Bart. "Bart," Mr. Coulson remarked thoughtfully. "I'm not quite catching on to that, but I suppose he goes in with the young lady." "They're both together, sir," the boy announced. Mr. Coulson completed his toilet and hurried downstairs Mr. Coulson found his two visitors in the lounge of the hotel.
If you take my advice, Lady Grace, you will get out of it. Lady Barbarity is far too good a mare to have her knees broken." "I am perfectly content to take my risks," Lady Grace answered confidently. "If the Prince had never ridden before in his life, I would trust him." Somerfield turned away, frowning. "What do you think about it, Penelope?" he asked.
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