he arrived in the launch and grabbed at his hat and, involuntarily, sat down upon Miss Crowland. With a firm and friendly hand she assisted him to recover his balance. She was in all respects made to sustain shocks. Her grey eyes smiled at him.
A man—an oldish, solemn man who was horrified—confronted Reggie. "You cannot come here, monsieur," he cried in French.
"I dare to assure you of the contrary," says Reggie in the same language.
"This is a private launch."
"Perfectly. Of the Prince of Ragusa. It is why I have arrived. I have news for the Prince of Ragusa—news which will surprise him marvellously."
The solemn man was embarrassed. "Nevertheless I protest, sir."
"I make a note of your protest," said Reggie, and bowed.
The solemn man bowed—and seemed satisfied.
Reggie sat down beside the little Alice Warenne, who had been watching all this very demurely, a contrast to Miss Crowland, who was frankly amused. "Permit a lover of art to address you, mademoiselle, said he. "I desire infinitely to thank you for the great pleasure which you have given me."
"How, sir? I do not understand." She looked more a baby than ever.
"Your little sleeves of satinette," Reggie murmured. "Your adorable little sleeves of satinette."
