Reginald sat in a corner of the princess’s salon and tried to forgive the furniture, which started out with an obvious intention of being Louis Quinze, but relapsed at frequent intervals into Wilhelm II .
He classified the princess with that distinct type of woman that looks as if it habitually went out to feed hens in the rain.
Her name was Olga; she kept what she hoped and believed to be a fox-terrier, and professed what she thought were Socialist opinions. It is not necessary to be called Olga if you are a Russian princess; in fact, Reginald knew quite a number who were called Vera; but the fox-terrier and the Socialism are essential.
“The Countess Lomshen keeps a bulldog,” said the princess suddenly. “In England is it more chic to have a bulldog than a fox-terrier?”
Reginald threw his mind back over the canine fashions of the last ten years and gave an evasive answer.