Blakely had an awful time escaping that night to dine with Dad and
me. He told us all about the tea at dinner, and I was surprised to
learn (I hadn't seen him yet) that the duke was just Blakely's age,
and, as Blakely put it, "a very decent sort." Not that there is any
reason why a grand duke shouldn't be a decent sort, but Rumor was
busy just then proclaiming that this particular grand duke was a
perfect pig.

The next day I had a chance to judge for myself. It seems the duke
noticed me as I got into my automobile for my morning ride, and
after finding out who I was, sent for Blakely and demanded that I be
presented to him.

Blakely was awfully angry. He said: "Look here, I don't know what
you've been used to, but in this country, where a man wishes to meet
a young lady, he asks to be presented to her. Not only that, but he
doesn't take it for granted that she'll be honored by the request.
Miss Middleton is my fiancee. I don't know whether she cares to meet
you or not. If she does, I'll let you know." The duke was terribly
mortified. He apologized beautifully.

Then Blakely apologized for getting angry, and they became better
friends than ever, with the result that the duke was presented to me
that very afternoon.

The Grand Duke Alexander was short and fat and fair, with a yellow
mustache of the Kaiser Wilhelm variety. It was rather a shock to me,
for I had expected a dashing black-haired person with flashing eyes
and a commanding presence. No, he wasn't at all my idea of what a
grand duke should look like; he looked much more like a little