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
brother to the ox (a well-bred, well-dressed, bath-loving little
brother, of course) than a member of an imperial family. Not that he
didn't have his points: he had nice hands and nice feet, and his
smile was charming.
You should have seen his face light up when he found I spoke French.
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