their menkind."

He was looking into her eyes. His tone was half bantering, half
serious. From across the table Penelope knew that Somerfield was
watching her closely. Somehow or other, she was irritated and
nervous, and she answered vaguely. Sir Charles intervened with a
story about some of their acquaintances, and the conversation
drifted into more ordinary channels.

"Some day, I suppose," the Duchess remarked, as the service of
dinner drew toward a close, "you will have restaurants like this
in Tokio?"

The Prince assented.

"Yes," he said without enthusiasm, "they will come. Our heritage
from the West is a sure thing. Not in my days, perhaps, or in the
days of those that follow me, but they will come."

"I think that it is absolutely wicked of Dicky," the Duchess
declared, as they rose from the table. "I shall never rely upon
him again."

"After all, perhaps, it isn't his fault," Penelope said,
breathing a little sigh of relief as she rose to her feet. "Mr.
Harvey is not always considerate, and I know that several of the
staff are away on leave."

"That's right, my dear," the Duchess said, smiling, "stick up for
your countrymen. I suppose he'll find us sometime during the