etween
two evils one chooses the less; besides, a nice thing about Mr.
Barrymore is that, notwithstanding his good looks and cleverness, he's
not conceited--not conceited enough, I sometimes think, for he lets
people misunderstand his position and often seems more amused than angry
at a snub.

Acting on my quick decision, I said, "Oh, I'm glad you've come. You know
so much about Verona. Please talk to me of this place--only don't say it
isn't authentic, for that would be a jarring note."

"I'm afraid I don't care enough whether things are authentic or not," he
answered, both of us ignoring the Prince. "You know, in my country,
legend and history are a good deal mixed, which makes for romance.
Besides, I'm inclined to believe in stories that have been handed down
from generation to generation--told by grandfathers to their
grandchildren, and so on through the centuries till they've reached us.
When they're investigated by the cold light of reason, at least they can
seldom be disproved."

I agreed, and the conversation went on, deliberately excluding the
Prince. Each minute I said to myself, "Surely he'll go." But he did not.
He stayed while Mr. Barrymore and I discussed the genius of Shakspere,
chiming in now and then as if nothing had happened, and remaining until
we were ready to go.

At the cab there was another crisis. I hadn't yet entirely realized the
Prince's stupendous capacity for what Beechy would put into one short,
sharp word "Cheek." But I fully appreciated it when he calmly manifested
his intention of getting into my cab, as if we had come together.

Something had to be done instantly, or it would be too late.

Leaning from my seat so that the Prince had to wait with his foot on the
step, I exclaimed, "Oh! Mr. Barrymore, won't you let me give you a lift?
Prince Dalmar-Kalm has his own cab, and I'm alone in this."

"Thanks very much, I shall be delighted," said the Chauffeulier.

Even the Prince's audacity wasn't equal to the situation created by
these tactics. He retired, hat in hand, looking so furious that I could
hardly help laughing. Mr. Barrymore got in beside me, and we drove off
leaving the Prince with nobody but his own cabman to vent his rage on.

I rather hoped, for a minute, that Mr. Barrymore would say something
which would give me the chance for a vague word or two of explanation;
but he didn't. He simply talked of indifferent things, telling me how
the work on the car was finished, a