The drive to the theatre was a short one, and conversation
consisted only of a few disjointed remarks. In the lobby the
Prince laid his hand upon Somerfield's arm.

"Sir Charles," he said, "if I were you, I would keep that evening
paper in your pocket. Don't let the ladies see it."

Somerfield looked at him in surprise.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"To me personally it is of no consequence," the Prince answered,
"but your womenfolk feel these things so keenly, and Mr.
Vanderpole is of the same nationality, is he not, as Miss Morse?
If you take my advice, you will be sure that they do not see the
paper until after they get home this evening."

"Has anything happened to Dicky?" Somerfield asked quickly.

The Prince's face was impassive; he seemed not to have heard.
Penelope had turned to wait for them.

"The Duchess thinks that we had better all go into the box," she
said. "We have two stalls as well, but as Dicky is not here there
is really room for five. Will you get some programmes, Sir
Charles?"

Somerfield stopped for a minute, under pretence of seeking some
change, and tore open his paper. The Prince led Penelope down the
carpeted way.