The Lady in the Car. Le Queux William

fine! And we’re going to see Scott’s country, and Edinburgh. I’m dying to see Melrose Abbey. It must be lovely from the pictures.”

      “You ought to get your father to have his car over,” the Prince suggested. “It’s a magnificent run up north from London.”

      The millionaire’s wife was carefully examining the Prince with covert glances. His Highness was unaware that the maternal gaze was so searching, otherwise he would probably have acted somewhat differently.

      A splendid run brought them to Lewes, the old-world Sussex capital. There, with a long blast of the electric siren, they shot down the hill and out again upon the Eastbourne Road, never pulling up until they were in the small garden before the Queen’s.

      Mary Jesup stepped out, full of girlish enthusiasm. Her only regret was that the people idling in the hall of the hotel could not be told that their companion was a real live Prince.

      They took tea under an awning overlooking the sea, and his Highness was particularly gracious towards Mrs Jesup, until both mother and daughter were filled with delight at his pleasant companionship. He treated both women as equals; his manner, as they afterwards put it, being devoid of any side, and yet he was every inch a prince.

      That run was the first of many they had together.

      Robert K. Jesup had been suddenly summoned by cable to Paris on business connected with his mining interests, therefore his wife and daughter remained in Brighton. And on account of their presence the Prince lingered there through another fortnight. Mostly he spent his days walking or motoring with Mrs Jesup and her daughter, and sometimes – on very rare occasions – he contrived to walk with Mary alone.

      One morning, when he had been with her along the pier listening to the band, he returned to luncheon to find in his own room a rather tall, clean-shaven, middle-aged clergyman, whose round face and ruddy complexion gave him rather the air of a bon vivant.

      Sight of his unexpected visitor caused the Prince to hold his breath for a second. It was the Parson.

      “Sorry I was out,” his Highness exclaimed. “Charles told you where I was, I suppose?”

      “Yes, Prince,” replied the cleric. “I helped myself to a whisky and soda. Hope you won’t mind. It was a nice morning in town, so I thought I’d run down to see you.”

      “You want another fifty, I suppose – eh?” asked his Highness sharply. “Some other work of charity – eh?”

      “My dear Prince, you’ve guessed it at once. You are, indeed, very good.”

      His Highness rang the bell, and when the valet appeared, gave him orders to go and get fifty pounds, which he handed to the clergyman.

      Then the pair had luncheon brought up to the room, and as they sat together their conversation was mostly about mutual friends. For a cleric the Reverend Thomas Clayton was an extremely easy-going man, a thorough sportsman of a type now alas! dying out in England.

      It was plain to see that they were old friends, and plainer still when, on parting a couple of hours later, the Prince said:

      “When I leave here, old fellow, you’ll join me for a little, won’t you? Don’t worry me any more at present for your Confounded – er charities – will you? Fresh air for the children, and whisky for yourself – eh? By Jove, if I hadn’t been a Prince, I’d have liked to have been a parson! Good-bye, old fellow.” And the rubicund cleric shook his friend’s hand heartily and went down the broad staircase.

      The instant his visitor had gone he called Charles and asked excitedly:

      “Did any one know the Parson came to see me?”

      “No, your Highness. I fortunately met him in King’s Road, and brought him up here. He never inquired at the office.”

      “He’s a fool! He could easily have written,” cried the Prince eagerly. “Where are those women, I wonder?” he asked, indicating Mrs Jesup and her daughter.

      “I told them you would be engaged all the afternoon.”

      “Good. I shan’t go out again to-day, Charles. I want to think. Go to them with my compliments, and say that if they would like to use the car for a run this afternoon they are very welcome. You know what to say. And – and see that a bouquet of roses is sent up to the young lady’s room before she goes to dress. Put one of my cards on it.”

      “Yes, your Highness,” replied the valet, and turning, left his master to himself.

      The visit of the Reverend Thomas Clayton had, in some way, perturbed and annoyed him. And yet their meeting had been fraught by a marked cordiality.

      Presently he flung himself into a big armchair, and lighting one of his choice “Petroffs” which he specially imported, sat ruminating.

      “Ah! If I were not a Prince!” he exclaimed aloud to himself. “I could do it – do it quite easily. But it’s my confounded social position that prevents so much. And yet – yet I must tell her. It’s imperative. I must contrive somehow or other to evade that steely maternal eye. I wonder if the mother has any suspicion – whether – ?”

      But he replaced his cigarette between his lips without completing the expression of his doubts.

      As the sunlight began to mellow, he still sat alone, thinking deeply. Then he moved to go and dress, having resolved to dine in the public restaurant with his American friends. Just then Charles opened the door, ushering in a rather pale-faced, clean-shaven man in dark grey tweeds. He entered with a jaunty air and was somewhat arrogant of manner, as he strode across the room.

      The Prince’s greeting was greatly the reverse of cordial.

      “What brings you here, Max?” he inquired sharply. “Didn’t I telegraph to you only this morning?”

      “Yes. But I wanted a breath of sea-air, so came down. I want to know if you’re going to keep the appointment next Monday – or not.”

      “I can’t tell yet.”

      “Hylda is anxious to know. You promised her, remember.”

      “I know. But apologise, and say that – well, I have some private business here. You know what to say, Max. And I may want you down here in a hurry. Come at once if I wire.”

      The man looked him straight in the face for a few moments.

      “Oh!” he ejaculated, and then without being invited, crossed and took a cigarette.

      “Charles,” said the visitor to the valet who had remained in the room, “give me a drink. Let me wish success to matrimony.” And with a knowing laugh he tossed off the whisky and soda handed to him. For half an hour he remained chatting confidentially with the Prince, then he left, saying that he should dine alone at the Old Ship, and return to London at ten.

      When Max Mason had gone, Prince Albert heaved a long sigh, and passed into the adjoining room to dress.

      That night proved a momentous one in his Highness’s life, for after dinner Mrs Jesup complained of a bad headache, and retiring at once to her room, left the young people together. What more natural, therefore, than that his Highness should invite Mary to put on her wrap and go for a stroll along the promenade in the moonlight. She accepted the invitation eagerly, and went up to her mother’s room.

      “I’m going for a walk with him, mother,” she cried excitedly as she burst into the room where Mrs Jesup, with all traces of headache gone, was lazily reading a novel.

      “That’s real good. Put on something thick, child, for its chilly,” was the maternal reply. “And, remember, you don’t go flirting with Princes very often.”

      “No, mother, but just leave him to me. I’ve been thinking over what you say, and I mean to be Princess of Hesse-Holstein before the year’s out. Or else – ”

      “Or else there’ll be trouble – eh?” laughed her mother.

      But the girl had disappeared to join the man who loved her, and who was waiting below.

      In