The people expect it of him. He conforms entirely to the standard
accepted by the military aristocracy of Berlin. It is you who have been
in the wrong--diplomatically."

"Then you mean, sir," Norgate protested, "that I should have taken it
sitting down?"

"Most assuredly you should," the Ambassador replied, "unless you were
willing to pay the price. Your only fault--your personal fault, I
mean--that I can see is that it was a little indiscreet of you to dine
alone with a young woman for whom the Prince is known to have a
foolish passion. Diplomatically, however, you have committed every
fault possible, I am very sorry, but I think that you had better
report in Downing Street as soon as possible. The train leaves, I
think, at three o'clock."

Norgate for a moment was unable to speak or move. He was struggling with
a sort of blind fury.

"This is the end of me, then," he muttered at last. "I am to be disgraced
because I have come to a city of boors."

"You are reprimanded and in a sense, no doubt, punished," the Ambassador
explained calmly, "because you have come to--shall I accept your term?--a
city of boors and fail to adapt yourself. The true diplomatist adapts
himself wherever he may be. My personal sympathies remain with you. I
will do what I can in my report."

Norgate had recovered himself.