"And are
you properly proud?"
Jax wiggled his remnant of a tail.
"Would you like to belong to her, Jax, and get patted every day? Yet she
wouldn't take you--snapped me off short as that stump of yours when I
offered you to her. Why was that, Jax?"
Jax couldn't say, not being familiar with the ways of fair Americans,
and the Prince patted him softly on his nobbly crown.
"Just the same, she was a beauty, Jax; slim, straight, full of fire--a
thoroughbred; and with a sense of humour, my dear, which you will find
in not many women. Did you notice her cheeks, Jax, and her eyes? But of
course not; you were very properly grovelling before her. And I owe you
eternal gratitude, old boy; but for you, I'd have stalked past without
seeing her. That would have been a pity, wouldn't it?"
There was a knock at the door and Glueck's head appeared.
"I thought I told you," began the Prince--
"Your Highness will pardon me," explained Glueck, quickly, "but there is
a man here who insists that Your Highness will see him."
"Who is he?"
"This is his card, Your Highness," and Glueck entered the room. "I have
sent it back once, saying that Your Highness was not to be disturbed. He
returned it, insisting--"
Markeld took the card, glanced at it, and read:
_"M. Andre Tellier, Paris.
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