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In Brief Authority

by F. Anstey · English · Gutenberg #28459 · 663,958 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: In Brief Authority

Author: F. Anstey


        
Release date: March 31, 2009 [eBook #28459]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/28459

Credits: Produced by David Clarke, Mary Meehan and the Online
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        file was produced from images generously made available
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN BRIEF AUTHORITY ***




Produced by David Clarke, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)









                         IN BRIEF AUTHORITY

                            BY F. ANSTEY

AUTHOR OF "VICE VERSÂ," "A FALLEN IDOL," "THE PARIAH," "THE GIANT'S
ROBE," "LYRE AND LANCET," "THE BRASS BOTTLE," "THE TALKING HORSE AND
OTHER TALES," "SALTED ALMONDS," ETC.


LONDON
SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE
1915

[All rights reserved]

Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
at the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh




To
Peggy




AUTHOR'S NOTE


It may be as well to mention here that the whole of this book was
planned, and at least three-fourths of it actually written, in those
happy days, which now seem so pathetically distant, when we were still
at peace--days when, to all but a very few, so hideous a calamity as a
World-War seemed a danger that had passed for the present, and might
never recur; when even those few could hardly have foreseen that England
would be so soon compelled to fight for her very existence against the
most efficient and deadly foe it has ever been her lot to encounter.

But, as the central idea of this story happens to be inseparably
connected with certain characters and incidents of German origin, I have
left them unaltered--partly because it would have been difficult, if not
impossible, to substitute any others, but mainly because I cannot bring
myself to believe that the nursery friends of our youth could ever be
regarded as enemies.

F. ANSTEY.

_September 1915._




CONTENTS

I. "THE SKIRTS OF HAPPY CHANCE"

II. RUSHING TO CONCLUSIONS

III. FINE FEATHERS

IV. CROWNED HEADS

V. DIGNITY UNDER DIFFICULTIES

VI. CARES OF STATE

VII. A GAME THEY DID NOT UNDERSTAND

VIII. "A STEED THAT KNOWS HIS RIDER"

IX. THE PLEASURES OF THE TABLE

X. THE BLONDE BEAST

XI. A WAY OUT

XII. UNWELCOME ANNOUNCEMENTS

XIII. WHAT THE PIGEON SAID

XIV. BAG AND BAGGAGE

XV. "RIVEN WITH VAIN ENDEAVOUR"

XVI. "A CLOUD THAT'S DRAGONISH"

XVII. THE REWARD OF VALOUR

XVIII. A PREVIOUS ENGAGEMENT

XIX. SERVANTS OF THE QUEEN

XX. AT THE END OF HER TETHER

XXI. "WHOSE LIGHTS ARE FLED, WHOSE GARLANDS DEAD"

XXII. SQUARING ACCOUNTS

EPILOGUE




IN BRIEF AUTHORITY




CHAPTER I

"THE SKIRTS OF HAPPY CHANCE"


On a certain afternoon in March Mrs. Sidney Stimpson (or rather Mrs.
Sidney Wibberley-Stimpson, as a recent legacy from a distant relative
had provided her with an excuse for styling herself) was sitting alone
in her drawing-room at "Inglegarth," Gablehurst.

"Inglegarth" was the name she had chosen for the house on coming to live
there some years before. What it exactly meant she could not have
explained, but it sounded distinguished and out of the common, without
being reprehensibly eccentric. Hence the choice.

Some one, she was aware, had just entered the carriage-drive, and after
having rung, was now standing under the white "Queen Anne" porch;
Mitchell, the rosy-cheeked and still half-trained parlour-maid, was
audible in the act of "answering the door."

It being neither a First nor a Third Friday, Mrs. Stimpson was not,
strictly speaking, "at home" except to very intimate friends, though she
made a point of being always presentable enough to see any afternoon
caller. On this occasion she was engaged in no more absorbing occupation
than the study of one of the less expensive Society journals, and,
having already read all that was of real interest in its columns, she
was inclined to welcome a distraction.

"If you please, m'm," said Mitchell, entering, "there's a lady wishes to
know if she could see you for a minute or two."

"Did you ask her to state her business, Mitchell?... No? Then you should
have. Called for a subscription to something, I expect. Tell her I am
particularly engaged. I suppose she didn't give any name?"

"Oh yes, m'm. She give her name--Lady 'Arriet Elmslie, it was."

"Then why on earth didn't you say so before," cried the justly
exasperated Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, "instead of leaving her ladyship on
the door-mat all this time? Really, Mitchell, you are _too_ trying! Go
and show her in at once--and be careful to say 'my lady.' And bring up
tea for two as soon as you can--the _silver_ tea-pot, mind!"

It might have been inferred from her manner that she and Lady Harriet
were on terms of closest friendship, but this was not exactly the case.
Mrs. Stimpson had indeed known her for a considerable time, but only by
sight, and she had long ceased to consider a visit from Lady Harriet as
even a possible event. Now it had actually happened, and,
providentially, on an afternoon when Mitchell's cap and apron could defy
inspection. But if it was the first time that an Earl's daughter had
crossed Mrs. Stimpson's threshold, she was not at all the woman to allow
the fact to deprive her of her self-possession.

A title had no terror for _her_. Before her marriage, when she was Miss
Selina Prinsley, she had acted as hostess for her father, the great
financier and company promoter, who had entertained lavishly up to the
date of his third and final failure. Her circle then had included many
who could boast of knighthoods, and even baronetcies!

And, though Lady Harriet was something of a personage at Gablehurst, and
confined her acquaintance to her own particular set, there was nothing
formidable or even imposing in her appearance. She was the widow of a
Colonel Elmslie, and apparently left with only moderate means, judging
from the almost poky house on the farther side of the Common, which she
shared with an unmarried female cousin of about her own age.

So, when she was shown in, looking quite ordinary, and even a little
shy, Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson rose to receive her with perfect ease,
being supported by the consciousness that she was by far the more
handsomely dressed of the two. In fact her greeting was so gracious as
to be rather overpowering.

"Interrupting me? Not in the very _least_, dear Lady Harriet! Only too
delighted, I'm sure!... Now _do_ take off your boa, and come nearer the
fire. You'll find this _quite_ a comfy chair, I think. Tea will be
brought in presently.... Oh, you really _must_, after trapesing all that
way across the Common. I can't _tell_ you how pleased I am to see you.
I've so often wished to make your acquaintance, but I couldn't take the
first step, could I? _So_ nice of you to break the ice!"

Lady Harriet submitted to these rather effusive attentions resignedly
enough. She could hardly interrupt her hostess's flow of conversation
without rudeness, while she had already begun to suspect that Mrs.
Stimpson might form an entertaining study.

But her chief reason, after all, was that the prospect of tea had its
attractions. Accordingly she attempted no further explanations of her
visit just then, and was content to observe Mrs. Stimpson, while she
rippled on complacently.

She saw a matron who might be about fifty, with abundant pale auburn
hair, piled up, and framing her face in a sort of half aureole. The eyes
were small and hazel green; the nose narrow and pointed, the wide,
full-lipped mouth, which wore just then a lusciously ingratiating smile,
showed white but prominent teeth. The complexion was of a uniform
oatmealy tint, and, though Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson was neither tall nor
slim, she seemed to have taken some pains to preserve a waist.

"Most fortunate I happened to be at home," she was saying. "And if you
had called on one of my _regular_ days, I shouldn't have had the chance
of a _real_ talk with you. As it is, we shall be quite _tête-à-tête_....
Ah, here _is_ tea--you must tell me if you like it weak, dear Lady
Harriet, and I shall remember the _next_ time you come. Yes, you find me
all alone this afternoon. My eldest daughter, Edna, has gone to a
lecture at her Mutual Improvement Society, on a German Philosopher
called Nitchy, or some such name. She's so bookish and well-read, takes
such an interest in all the latest movements--runs up to town for
_matinées_ of intellectual dramas--_quite_ the modern type of girl. But
not a blue-stocking--she's joined a Tango Class lately, and dances most
beautifully, I'm told--just the figure for it. We got up a little
Costume Ball here this winter--perhaps you may have heard of it?--Ah,
well, my Edna was generally admitted to be the _belle_ of the evening. A
perfect Juliet, everybody said. I went as her mother--Lady Capulet, you
know. I _did_ think of going as Queen Elizabeth at one time. I've so
often been told that if I ever went to a Fancy Dress Ball, I ought to go
as her--or at all events as _one_ of our English Queens. But, however, I
didn't. Mr. Stimpson went as a Venetian Doge, but I do _not_ consider
myself that it was at all suitable to him."

She did not say all this without a motive. She knew that a local
Historical Pageant was being arranged for the coming Summer, and that
Lady Harriet was on the Committee. Also she had heard that, after
rehearsals had begun, some of the principal performers had resigned
their parts, and the Committee had some difficulty in finding
substitutes.

It had struck her as not at all unlikely that her visitor had called
with a view to ascertaining whether the services of any of the Stimpson
household would be available. If she had, it was, of course very
gratifying. If she had merely come in a neighbourly way, there was no
harm in directing her attention to the family qualifications for a
Pageant performance.

Her hearer, without betraying any sign of the mirth she inwardly felt,
meekly agreed that Mrs. Stimpson was undoubtedly well fitted to
impersonate a Queen, and that the costume of a Venetian Doge was rather
a trying one, after which her hostess proceeded: "Perhaps you are right,
dear Lady Harriet, but the worst of it was that my boy Clarence, who
would have made such a handsome Romeo, insisted on going as a _Pierrot_!
Very likely you have seen Clarence?... Oh, you would certainly have
noticed him if you had--always so well turned out. He's got quite a good
post as Secretary to an Insurance Co., in the City: they think so
highly of him there--take his advice on everything--in fact, he
practically _is_ the Company! And only twenty-two! It's _such_ a relief,
because there _was_ a time when it really seemed as if he'd never settle
down to any regular work. Nothing would induce him to enter my husband's
business--for I must tell you, Lady Harriet, we _are_ in business.
Sauces, pickles, condiments of every sort and description--_wholesale_,
you know, _not_ retail, so I hope you aren't _too_ dreadfully shocked!"

Lady Harriet remarked that she saw nothing to be shocked at--several of
her relations and friends were in business of various kinds, which gave
Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson the opening she required. "Society has changed
its views so _much_ lately, has it not?" she said. "Why, the youngest
partner in Mr. Wibberley-Stimpson's firm is a younger son of the Earl of
Fallowfields--Mr. Chervil Thistleton, and an Honourable, of _course_! I
daresay you are acquainted with him?... Not? Quite a charming young
man--married a Miss Succory, a connection of the Restharrows, and such a
sweet girl! You may have met her?... Oh, I thought--but I really hardly
know her _myself_ yet," (which was Mrs. Stimpson's method of disguising
the fact that she had never met either of them in her life). "When he
came into the warehouse he was perfectly amazed at the immense variety
in pickles and sauces--it was quite a revelation to him. Only he can't
_touch_ pickles of any kind, which is a pity, because it prevents him
from taking the interest he might in the business.... Just _one_ of
these hot cakes, dear Lady Harriet--you're making such a wretched
tea!... I should like you to see my youngest child, Ruby. She's gone out
to tea with some little friends of hers, but she may be back before you
go. So much admired--such lovely colouring! But just a _little_
difficult to manage. Governess after governess have I had, and none of
them could do anything with her. My present one, however, she seems to
have taken to. Miss Heritage, her name is--at least she was adopted as a
baby by a rich widow of that name, and brought up in every luxury. But
Mrs. Heritage died without making a will, and it seems she'd muddled
away most of her money, and there were claims on what she left, so the
poor girl had to turn out, and earn her own living. Such a sad little
story, is it not? I felt it was really a charity to engage her. I'm not
sure that I can keep her much longer, though. She's far too good-looking
for a governess, and there's always a danger with a marriageable young
man in the house, but fortunately Clarence has too much sense and
principle to marry out of his own rank. I do think that's _such_ a
mistake, don't you, dear Lady Harriet? Look at the Duke of Mountravail's
heir, the young Marquis of Muscombe--married only last month at a
registry office to a girl who was in the chorus at the Vivacity! I hear
she comes of quite a respectable family, and all that," admitted Mrs.
Stimpson, who derived her information from her Society journals. "But
still, can you _wonder_ at the poor Duke and Duchess being upset by it?
I've no doubt you are constantly coming across similar instances in
Smart Society."

Lady Harriet disclaimed all acquaintanceship with Smart Society, which
Mrs. Stimpson protested she could not believe. "I am sure you have the
_entrée_ into _any_ set, Lady Harriet, even the smartest! Which reminds
me. _Have_ you heard anything more about that mysterious disappearance
of the Dowager Duchess of Gleneagle's diamonds during her journey from
the North last week? A tiara, _and_ a dog-collar, I was told.
Professional thieves, I suppose, but don't you think the Duchess's
maid?--Oh, _really_? I made _sure_ you would be a friend of the
Duchess's--but, of course, Society is so much larger than it used to
be!"

"You are a far better authority than I can pretend to be about it," Lady
Harriet owned smilingly; "and really you've given me so much interesting
information that I had nearly forgotten what I came to see you about.
It's--well, I wanted to ask----"

"I think I can _guess_, Lady Harriet," put in Mrs. Stimpson, as her
visitor paused for a second. "I've heard of your difficulties about
getting players for the Pageant, and I'm sure I, and indeed _all_ the
family, would feel only too honoured."

"It's most kind of you," Lady Harriet interrupted, rising, "but--but
that isn't why I've troubled you. It's only that I'm thinking of
engaging Jane Saunders as house-parlourmaid, and she tells me she was in
your service, so I called to ask about her character, don't you know."

For a moment Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson wished she had been less
precipitate, but she soon recognised that no real harm had been done.
"Saunders?" she said, "yes, she left me last month. Do sit down again,
dear Lady Harriet, and I'll give you all the information I possibly can.
Well, when that girl first came, she had everything to learn. It was
quite evident she'd never been in service before with gentlefolks.
Actually brought in letters in her _fingers_, Lady Harriet, and knocked
at sitting-room doors! And _no_ notion of cleaning silver, and I like to
see mine come up to table without a speck! However, after being with me
for a while, she improved, and I can conscientiously say that she became
quite competent in time. That is, for a household like _ours_, you know,
where things are done in quite an unpretentious style."

"I don't think we are at all pretentious people either," said Lady
Harriet, rising once more. "And now, Mrs. Stimpson, you have told me all
I wanted to know, so I must tear myself away."

"Must you _really_ be going? Well, Lady Harriet, I've _so_ much enjoyed
our little chat. There are so few persons in a semi-suburban
neighbourhood like this, with whom one can have anything in common. So I
shall hope to see more of you in future. And if," she added, after
ringing for Mitchell, "I _should_ find I've forgotten anything I ought
to have told you about Saunders, I can easily pop in some morning." Lady
Harriet hastened to assure her that she must not think of giving herself
this trouble--after which she took her leave.

"Rather an amusing experience in its way," she was thinking. "Something
to tell Joan when I get back. But oh! _what_ an appalling woman! She's
settled _one_ thing, though. It will be quite impossible to take Jane
Saunders _now_. A pity--because I rather liked the girl's looks!"

Meanwhile the happily unconscious Mrs. Stimpson had settled down in her
chair again with the conviction that she had made a distinctly
favourable impression. She allowed her eyes to wander complacently round
the room, which, with its big bay window looking on the semi-circular
gravel sweep, and its glazed door by the fireplace leading through a
small conservatory, gay with begonias, asters, and petunias to the
garden beyond, was not merely large, by Gablehurst standards, but
undeniably pleasant. She regarded its various features--the white
chimney-piece and over-mantel with Adam decorations in _Cartonpierre_,
the silk fire-screen printed with Japanese photographs, the
cottage-grand, on which stood a tall trumpet vase filled with branches
of imitation peach blossom, the _étagères_ ("Louis Quinze style")
containing china which could not be told from genuine Dresden at a
distance, the gaily patterned chintz on the couches and chairs, the
water-colour sketches of Venice, and coloured terra-cotta plaques
embossed on high relief with views of the Forum and St. Peter's at Rome
on the walls, and numerous "nick-nacks"--an alabaster model of the
Leaning Tower of Pisa, a wood carving of the Lion of Lucerne, and groups
of bears from Berne--all of which were not only souvenirs of her
wedding-journey, but witnesses to Continental travel and general
culture.

She could see nothing that was not in the most correct taste, as Lady
Harriet must have observed for herself, together with the hammered
copper gong, the oak chest, and the china bowl for cards in the hall.
Strange that Saunders should have been the humble means of bringing
about so unexpected a meeting, but Providence chose its own instruments,
and now the seed was sown, Mrs. Stimpson felt she could rely on herself
for the harvest.

And so she took up the latest number of _The Upper Circle_, and read, to
the accompaniment of alternate duologues and soliloquies by thrushes and
blackbirds in the garden, until gradually she drifted into a blissful
dream of being at a garden-party at Lady Harriet's and entreated, not
merely by her hostess, but Royalty itself, to accept the _rôle_ of
Queen at the County Pageant!

She was in the act of doing this gracefully, when the vision was
abruptly ended by the entrance of her elder daughter. Edna was by no
means bad-looking, in spite of her light eyelashes and eyebrows, and the
fact that the _pince-nez_ she wore compressed her small nose in an
unbecoming ridge. Her eyes were larger than her mother's, though of the
same colour, and her hair was of a deeper shade of auburn. Her costume
was of a kind that may be described as the floppily artistic.

"I never heard you come in, my dear," said her mother. "Did you enjoy
your lecture?"

"Quite; I took pages and pages of notes. Nietzsche's _Gospel of the
Superman_ is certainly most striking."

"And _what_ is his Gospel exactly?"

"Oh, well, he teaches that the ideal man ought to rise superior to
conventional prejudices, and have the courage to do as he thinks right
without deferring to ordinary ideas. To be strong in willing what he
wants--all that sort of thing, you know."

"Dear me!" said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson dubiously. "But, if everybody
acted like that, would it be quite--er--nice?"

"There's no fear of any of the men in Gablehurst being Supermen, at all
events!" said Edna. "They're all perfect slaves to convention! But the
lecturer explained the Nietzschean theories in such a way that he made
us feel there was a great deal to be said for them.... No tea, thanks. I
had mine at the Fletchers. It looks," she added, with a glance at the
tea-cups, "as if you had been entertaining some one, Mother--who was
it?"

"Only Lady Harriet," replied Mrs. Stimpson, with elaborate carelessness.

"_What_ Lady Harriet?" was the intentionally provoking query.

"Really, Edna, one would think there were dozens of them! _The_ Lady
Harriet: Lady Harriet Elmslie, of course."

"Oh," said Edna. "And what did _she_ want?"

"Well, she _came_ to ask after Saunders' character, but she stayed to
tea, and we really struck up quite an intimate friendship, discussing
one thing and another. She's so quiet and unassuming, Edna--absolutely
no _hauteur_. I'm sure you will like her. I told her about you all, and
she seemed _so_ interested. Quite between ourselves, I shouldn't be at
all surprised if she got us invited to take part in the Pageant--she's
on the Committee, you know."

"If I _was_ invited, Mother, I'm not at all sure I shouldn't refuse."

"You must please yourself about that, my dear," said Mrs. Stimpson, who,
perhaps, felt but little anxiety as to the result. "_I_ shall certainly
accept if the part is at all suitable."

She might have said more, if Ruby had not suddenly burst into the room.
Ruby was certainly the flower of the family--an extremely engaging young
person of about ten, whose mischievous golden-brown eyes had long and
curling lashes, and whose vivacious face was set off by a thick mane of
deepest Titian red.

"Oh, Mummy," she announced breathlessly, "I've got invitations for
nearly all my animals while we're away at Eastbourne! Mucius Scævola's
the most popular--everybody asked him, but I think he'll feel _most_ at
home with Daisy Williams. Vivian and Ada Porter will simply love to
have Numa Pompilius, but nobody seems to want Tarquinius Superbus, so I
shall turn him out in the garden, and he must catch worms for himself."

"Dearest child," said her mother, "what are these new animals of yours
with the extraordinary names?"

"They're the same old animals, Mums. I've rechristened them since I
began Roman History with Miss Heritage. Mucius Scævola's the Salamander,
because they're indifferent to fire, like he was--though Miss Heritage
says it wouldn't be kind to try with Mucius. Numa Pompilius is the
Blind-worm--he used to be Kaa--and the Toad has changed from Nobbles to
Tarquinius Superbus."

"I can't understand how you can keep such unpleasant pets as reptiles,"
said Edna.

"Because I like them," said Ruby simply. "And Bobby Williams has
promised, as soon as it gets warmer, to come out on the Common with me
and catch lizards. _Won't_ it be lovely?"

"I hope you won't put one of them down anybody's neck, then, as you did
to Tommy Fletcher."

"That was Mucius," Ruby admitted cheerfully. "But I didn't mean him to
go so far down. And he was very good--he didn't bite Tommy anywhere."

"Little ladies don't play such tricks," said her Mother. "I hope Miss
Heritage doesn't encourage your liking for these horrid creatures?"

"Oh, she doesn't mind, so long as I don't take them out of the aquarium,
but she hates touching them herself."

"Did she come in with you?" her mother inquired, and was told that Miss
Heritage had done so, and had gone upstairs, whereupon Ruby was ordered
to go and take off her things, and stay quietly in the schoolroom till
it was time to come down.

"I don't know if you noticed it, Mother," Edna began, as soon as Ruby
had consented to leave them, "but Miss Heritage had a letter by the
afternoon post which seemed to upset her. I went rather out of my way to
ask her if she had had bad news of any kind, but she did not think
proper to take me into her confidence. Perhaps she might be more open
with _you_."

"My dear," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, with much dignity, "I take no
interest whatever in Miss Heritage's private correspondence."

"Nor I," declared Edna. "I only thought that if she is in any
trouble--She's so secretive, you know, Mums. I've tried more than once
to get her to tell me what cosmetic she uses for her hands--and she
never will own to using any at all!"

"I'm sure, Edna, you've no reason to be ashamed of your hands."

"Oh, they look all right just now," said Edna, examining them
dispassionately. "But they _will_ turn lobster colour at the most
inconvenient times. Hers never do--and it _does_ seem so unfair,
considering--" She broke off here, as Daphne Heritage entered.

"Well, Miss Heritage?" said Mrs. Stimpson, as the girl hesitated on
seeing Edna. "Did you wish to speak to me?"

"I did rather want your advice about something," said Daphne, who had a
paper, and a small leather case in her hands; "I thought I might find
you alone. It doesn't matter--it will do quite well another time."

"Don't let _me_ prevent you, Miss Heritage," said Edna. "If you don't
wish to speak to Mother before me, I've no desire to remain. I was just
going up to change in any case."

She went out with a slightly huffy air, which was not entirely due to
baffled curiosity, for she admired Daphne enough to resent being quietly
kept at a distance.

"It's about this," explained Daphne, after Edna had made her exit--"a
bill that has just been sent on to me." She gave the paper to Mrs.
Stimpson as she spoke. "I don't know quite what to do about it."

She looked very young and inexperienced as she stood there, a slim
girlish figure with masses of burnished hair the colour of ripe corn,
braided and coiled as closely as possible round her small head, but
there was no trace of timidity or subservience in her manner. In the
slight form, with the milk-white skin, delicate profile and exquisite
hands, there was a distinction that struck her employer as quite
absurdly out of keeping with her position.

"The only thing to do about a bill, my dear," said Mrs. Stimpson, "is to
pay it. But nearly thirty pounds is a large sum for you to owe your
milliner."

"It's for things Mother--my adopted mother, you know--ordered for me.
Stéphanie was always told to send in the account to her. But this seems
to have been overlooked, and the executors have sent it on to me. Only I
can't pay it myself--unless you wouldn't mind advancing me the money out
of my salary."

"I couldn't possibly. You forget that it would represent over a year's
salary, and it's by no means certain that you will be with me so long."

"I was afraid you wouldn't," said Daphne, with a little droop at the
corners of her extremely pretty mouth. "So I brought this to show you."
She held out the leather case. "It's the only jewellery I've got. It
belonged to my father, I believe; he and my real mother both died when I
was a baby, you know--and I never meant to part with it. But now I'm
afraid I must--that is, if you think any jeweller would give as much as
thirty pounds for it."

Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson opened the case, which was much more modern than
the kind of badge or pendant it contained. This was a fairly large oval
stone of a milky green, deeply engraved with strangely formed letters
interlaced in a cypher, and surrounded by a border of dark blue gems
which Mrs. Stimpson decided instantly must be Cabochon star sapphires of
quite exceptional quality. The gold chain attached to it was antique and
of fine and curious workmanship.

She was convinced that the pendant must be worth considerably more than
thirty pounds, though she was no doubt right in telling Daphne that no
jeweller would offer so much for an ornament that was quite out of
fashion. "Besides," she said, "I don't like the idea of any governess of
mine going about offering jewellery for sale. Have Edna or Ruby seen you
wearing this thing?" she asked with apparent irrelevance.

It appeared they had not; Daphne had never worn it herself, and she had
only remembered its existence that afternoon, and found it hidden away
at the back of her wardrobe.

"Well," said Mrs. Stimpson, "it is most unpleasant to me to see a young
girl like you owing all this money to her milliner."

"It isn't very pleasant for _me_," said Daphne ruefully; "but if you
won't advance the money, and I can't or mustn't sell the pendant, I
don't very well see how I can help it."

"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Mrs. Stimpson. "I really _oughtn't_
to--and under ordinary circumstances I couldn't afford it, but, as it
happens, a great-uncle of mine left me a small legacy not long ago, and
I haven't spent quite all of it yet. So I don't mind buying this for
thirty pounds myself."

"Will you really?" cried Daphne. "How angelic of you!"

"I think it is," said Mrs. Stimpson; "but I feel myself responsible for
you, to some extent. So I'll write you a cheque for the thirty pounds,
and you can send it off to this milliner person at once." She went to
the writing-table and filled up the cheque. "There," she said, handing
it to Daphne, "put it in an envelope and direct it at once--you'll find
a stamp in that box, and it can go by the next post."

"By the way, my dear," she added, as she was leaving the room, "I
needn't tell you that _I_ shall not breathe a word to a soul of our
little transaction, and I should advise you, in your own interests, to
keep it entirely to yourself."

"I was quite wrong about Mrs. Stimpson," Daphne told herself
reproachfully, after she had slipped the letter containing bill and
cheque into the letter-box in the hall. "She _can_ be kind sometimes,
and I've been a little beast to see only the comic side of her! I
daresay she won't even _wear_ that pendant."

But Mrs. Stimpson had every intention of wearing it that same evening.
It is not often that one has the opportunity of doing a kindness and
securing a real bargain at a single stroke; and she knew enough about
jewels to be fully aware that, if the ornament was a trifle
old-fashioned, she had not done at all badly over her purchase.

"It really suits me very well," she thought, as, after putting the last
touches to her evening demi-toilette, she fastened the pendant round her
neck. "Even better than I expected. It was lucky Miss Heritage came to
_me_. A jeweller would have been sure to cheat her, poor child!"

And she went down to the drawing-room feeling serenely satisfied with
herself.




CHAPTER II

RUSHING TO CONCLUSIONS


Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, as she sat in the drawing-room, where the
curtains had been drawn and the lamps lighted, was occupied with a
project which she was anxious to impart to her husband as soon as he
returned. Some time before a dull rumble from the valley had informed
her that his usual train was approaching Gablehurst station, and now she
heard the click of the front gate, the crunch of his well-known step on
the gravel, and the opening of the hall door.

"I want to speak to you for a moment, Sidney," she said, opening the
drawing-room door. "Come in here before you go up to dress." (Mrs.
Stimpson insisted on his dressing for dinner. It was customary in all
really good society, and also it would prevent him from feeling awkward
in evening clothes--which it never did.)

"Very well, my dear," he said, entering. "Any news with you?" which was
his invariable question.

Mr. Stimpson was short and inclined to be stout. What remained of his
hair was auburn and separated in the middle by a wide parting; he had
close-cut whiskers of a lighter red, which met in his moustache, and if
his eyes had been narrow, instead of round and filmy like a seal's, and
his mouth had been firm, and not loose and slightly open, he would not
have been at all a bad caricature of his Majesty King Henry the Eighth.

"Nothing--except, but I'll tell you about that afterwards. Sit down, do,
and don't fidget.... Well, I've been thinking, Sidney, that we really
ought to ask the Chevril Thistletons to a quiet little dinner. Not to
meet any of our _usual_ set, of course! We could have the dear Rector,
who, if he _is_ Low Church, is very well connected--and Lady Harriet
Elmslie."

Mr. Stimpson showed no enthusiasm at the suggestion. "Lady Elmslie,
Selina!" he cried. "But we don't _know_ her ladyship!"

"I do wish you would learn to use titles correctly, Sidney! Lady
_Harriet_ Elmslie--not Lady _Elmslie_! And you shouldn't speak of her,
except to servants, as 'her ladyship'; that's only done by inferiors."

"Well, my love, whatever may be the correct way of speaking of her, the
fact remains that we haven't the honour of her acquaintance."

"That's just where you're mistaken! We _have_, or at least _I_ have;"
and she described how she had come to enjoy that privilege.

"Well," he admitted at the conclusion, "she certainly seems to have made
herself exceedingly affable, but it doesn't follow that she'd come and
dine, even if we asked her."

"She would if it was to meet the Thistletons."

"Perhaps so, my love, but--er--we don't know that _they_ would come."

"Of course they would, if they knew we were expecting Lady Harriet. For
goodness' sake, Sidney, don't swing your foot like that--you know I
can't bear it. All _you_ have to do is to find out from Mr. Thistleton
what evenings the week after next would be most convenient, and _I'll_
undertake the rest!"

"I--I really couldn't do that, Selina. I'm a proud man, in my way, and I
don't care about exposing myself unnecessarily to a rebuff."

"Why should you be rebuffed? After all, he's only a junior partner!"

"True, my love, but that doesn't make him less stand-offish. He may be
_in_ the business, but he's not _of_ it. I doubt myself whether even old
Cramphorn would venture to invite him to dinner, and if he did, I'd bet
a tidy sum that the Honourable Mr. Chevril Thistleton----"

"Mr.--_not_ the Honourable _Mr._ Thistleton, Sidney," corrected his
wife, who had studied all such _minutiæ_ in a handbook written by a lady
of unimpeachable authority. "The term is _never_ employed in ordinary
conversation, or on visiting cards. But, if you won't show a proper
spirit, I shall write myself to Mrs. Thistleton and propose one or two
dates."

"It would be no good, my love," said Mr. Stimpson, brought to bay,
"because, if you _must_ know, I--er--_did_ approach the subject with
Thistleton--and--well, his manner was not sufficiently encouraging to
induce me to try it again. Not so fond of being made to feel as if I was
no better than one of our own clerks. I get quite enough of _that_ from
old Cramphorn!"

"You should _assert_ yourself more, Sidney, if you want people to
respect you."

"I'm always asserting myself--but old Cramphorn never listens! Just goes
on his own way. Won't hear of any changes--what was good enough when the
firm started a hundred years ago is good enough for _him_--now I'm all
for _new_ ideas myself--Progress and so forth!"

"That's what has kept us back," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson; "we should
have been in a far better set here than we're ever likely to be now if
you hadn't given yourself out as a violent Radical, when it's well known
that all best Gablehurst people are Conservatives, and several who are
not really entitled to be anything of the kind. As it is, I suppose I
must be content to pass my life in this suburban hole and mix with none
but second-rate people. But I certainly cannot expect Lady Harriet to
come here and meet them, so there's an end of it. If she imagines I've
no desire to pursue her acquaintance, it can't be helped, that's all!
And now you had better go up and dress."

The whole family were assembled by the time Mr. Stimpson
re-appeared--his wife was in her armchair by the standard lamp. Edna was
at the writing-table revising her notes of the afternoon's lecture, and
Clarence was seated close by, while Ruby was whispering earnestly to
Daphne on one of the chintz couches.

"All of you down before me, eh?" said the head of the family after the
usual salutations had been exchanged. "But I went up long after
everybody else. And not late after all--I've taught myself to dress in
well under ten minutes, you see!"

"Wish he'd taught himself not to wear a white tie with a dinner jacket!"
grumbled Clarence to Edna in an undertone.

"Couldn't you _tell_ him about it?" she replied.

"I could--but what'd be the good? He'd only turn up next time in a
tail-coat and a black bow!" said Clarence gloomily. "The poor old
governor's one of the people who never learn----!"

Clarence's own type was that for which the latest term is "knut." He was
accepted both by his family, his intimates, and himself as an infallible
guide on things in general. When consulted as to matters on which he
happened to be entirely ignorant, and these were not a few--he had
formed the habit of preserving a pregnant silence, as of one who could
say a good deal on the subject if he were at liberty to speak. And this
in itself denoted a certain degree of intelligence.

In appearance he was well built, though only of average height. He had
small green eyes like his mother's; his light sandy hair had a natural
ripple, and his pale face expressed nothing beyond an assured
consciousness of his own superiority. And yet he was not without a
certain sense of humour in matters which did not immediately concern
himself, though, owing to particular circumstances, it was just then
distinctly in abeyance.

"What time do you get back from the City to-morrow afternoon, my boy?"
his father asked.

"Not going up at all, Pater," said Clarence. "Told them I shouldn't." He
was thinking that after dinner would be quite time enough to break the
news that, on receiving a severe wigging for general slackness, he had
lost his temper, and offered to resign his post--an offer that had been
accepted with disconcerting alacrity.

"Ah, Sidney," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, "_Clarence_ knows how to
assert himself, you see!"

"I merely asked," Mr. Stimpson explained, "because I'm taking a Saturday
off myself, and I thought we could have a round or two of golf
together, eh, my boy?"

"I don't mind going round with you before lunch," said Clarence.
"Engaged for the afternoon; but, if you'll take _my_ advice, Governor,
you'd better practise a bit longer with the Pro before you attempt to
_play_. No good trying to run till you can walk, don't you know, what?"
(He had learnt to terminate his sentences with "what" as a kind of smart
shibboleth.) "Hullo, Mater!" he broke off suddenly, as he noticed the
pendant on her ample bosom, "where did you get that thing? Out of a
cracker?"

"Certainly not, Clarence; I am not in the habit of wearing cheap
jewellery. And this cost a considerable sum, though I daresay it is
worth what I paid for it."

"Did you go much of a mucker for it, Mater?"

"If I did, Clarence, I was well able to do so, thanks to dear old Uncle
Wibberley's legacy."

"I must say, Mother," said Edna, "it's far the most artistic thing I've
ever known you buy."

"It isn't _everybody's_ taste," remarked Mr. Stimpson, "but I should say
myself that it wasn't a bad investment. Where did you come across it, my
love?"

"My dear Sidney," replied Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson with much majesty, "as
I purchased it with my own money, where I came across it, and what I
paid for it are surely matters that only concern myself."

Daphne, who could hardly avoid hearing this conversation, was impressed
by the tact and delicacy it displayed. It never occurred to her that
Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson's reticence might be inspired by other motives
than a generous desire to spare her feelings. "She really is quite a
decent sort!" she told herself.

Clarence had not been unobservant of her--indeed it would not be too
much to say that he had been acutely conscious all the time of Miss
Heritage's presence.

Ever since she had become a member of the household he had alternated
between the desire to impress her and the dread of becoming entangled in
the toils of an artful little enchantress. It was true that since her
arrival in the family she had made no effort whatever to enchant him;
indeed, she had treated him with easy indifference--but this, his
experience of her sex and the world told him, was probably assumed. She
could hardly help knowing that he was something of a "catch" from her
point of view, and scheming to ensnare him.

Perhaps Clarence, with his now dubious prospects, felt himself rather
less of a catch than usual; perhaps it occurred to him that being
moderately ensnared would be pleasantly exciting, since he would always
know when to stop. At all events, he lounged gracefully toward the sofa,
on which she and Ruby were sitting: "I say, Miss Heritage," he began,
"you mustn't let my Kiddie sister bore you like this. She's been
whispering away in your ear for the last ten minutes."

Daphne denied that she was being bored.

"Of _course_ she isn't!" said Ruby; "I was finishing the story I began
telling her when we were walking home. We'd got to where Daphne first
meets the Fairy Prince."

"Then it's all about Miss Heritage, is it?"

"I call the heroine 'Daphne' in my story, after her--but, of course, she
isn't Miss Heritage _really_."

"You don't seem to think it very likely that Miss Heritage will ever
come across a Fairy Prince, eh!" commented Clarence, and wondered the
next moment whether he mightn't have said something to commit himself.

"I hope not," said Ruby, slipping her hand affectionately through
Daphne's arm, "because then she'd leave me, and I should never see her
again!"

"I shouldn't worry about it just yet, darling," said Daphne, smiling.
"Fairy Princes are only to be found in their own country--and it's a
long way from here to Fairyland."

Clarence was noticing, not for the first time, that her full face was
shaped like a shield, also that two fascinating little creases came in
it when she smiled, and her pretty grey eyes had a soft sparkle in them.
"I must be jolly careful," he told himself.

"I should prefer, Miss Heritage," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, who had
overheard the last sentence, "that Ruby was not encouraged to fill her
head with Fairy tales. I don't think them good for her."

"Oh, come, Mater!" protested Clarence, unable to resist the _rôle_ of
Champion. "Where on earth is the harm of them."

"Surely, Clarence," Edna put in instructively, "there is _this_
harm--they give such an utterly false impression of what life really
_is_! That's why I've never been able to take any interest in them."

"More likely," said Clarence, "because you've got no imagination."

"If I hadn't," retorted Edna, "I should hardly have got through the
Poetry I have. Most of Browning and Alfred Austin, and all Ella Wheeler
Wilcox! It's only the lowest degree of imagination that invents things
that couldn't possibly have happened!"

"They may have left off, Edna, but they happened _once_," declared Ruby.
"I know there _used_ to be Fairyland somewhere, with Kings and Queens
and Fairy Godmothers and enchanted castles and magicians and Ogres and
Dragons and things in it. And Miss Heritage believes it, too--_don't_
you, Miss Heritage, dear?"

"I'm much mistaken in Miss Heritage, my dear," said Mr. Stimpson
gallantly, "if her head isn't too well screwed on (if she'll allow me to
say so) to believe in any such stuff. All very well for the Nursery, you
know, but not to be taken seriously, or ... why, what's that? Most
extraordinary noise! Seems to come from outside, overhead."

They could all hear a strange kind of flapping whirr in the air, it grew
nearer and louder and then suddenly ceased.

"Aeroplane," pronounced Clarence, drawing the window curtains and
looking out. "Miles away by now, though. Terrific pace they travel at.
Too dark to see anything."

He returned to the hearthrug, and the moment afterwards, the silence
outside was broken by a shrill, clear call which seemed to come from
silver trumpets.

"Very odd," said Mr. Stimpson, "some one seems to be playing trumpets on
the gravel-sweep!"

"If it's one of those travelling German bands," said his wife, "you'd
better send them away at once, Sidney."

But, whoever they were, they had already entered the hall, for almost
immediately the drawing-room door was thrown open and two persons
wearing tabards and gaily plumed hats entered and sounded another
blast.

"'Pon my word, you know," gasped Mr. Stimpson, "this is really----"

The heralds stepped back as a third person entered. He was wearing a
rich suit of some long-departed period, and, with his furrowed face and
deep-set eyes, he rather resembled an elderly mastiff, though he did not
convey the same impression of profound wisdom. He gazed round the room
as though he himself were as bewildered as its other occupants, who were
speechless with amazement. Then his eye fell on Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson,
and he hesitated no longer, but, advancing towards her chair, sank with
some difficulty on one knee, seized her hand, and kissed it with every
sign of deep respect.

"Heaven be praised!" he cried in a voice that faltered with emotion, "I
have at last found the Queen we have so long sought in vain!" He spoke
with some sort of foreign accent, but they all understood him perfectly.
As he knelt they heard a loud crack which seemed to come from between
his shoulders.

"Braces given way," whispered Clarence to Edna; "silly old ass to go
kneeling in 'em!"

"Really, sir," said Mr. Stimpson, "this is most extraordinary
behaviour."

"You don't understand, Sidney," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, who had
recovered from her first alarm and was now in a gratified flutter;
"remember what I told you about Lady Harriet and the Pageant! Pray, get
up, sir," she added to the stranger, "I haven't the advantage of knowing
your name."

"I am the Court Chamberlain," he said, "and my name is Treuherz von
Eisenbänden."

It was unknown to Mrs. Stimpson, but she concluded that he was some
Anglo-German commercial magnate, who would naturally be invited to join
the Committee for any such patriotic purpose as a Pageant.

As to the excessive ceremony of his manner, that was either the proper
form for the occasion, or, what was more likely, Mr. Troitz, or whatever
his name was, having come fresh from a dress rehearsal, could not divest
himself as yet of his assumed character. The important point was that
her interview with Lady Harriet had borne fruit already, and in the
shape of a pressing invitation to play the distinguished part of
"Queen!" The advantages thus offered for obtaining a social footing
amongst county people made it easy to overlook any trifling
eccentricities where the intention was so obviously serious. "Well, Mr.
Troitz," she said graciously, "since the Committee have been kind enough
to ask me, I shall be very pleased to be your Queen."

"And if I may say so, Sir," said her husband, "there are few ladies in
the vicinity who would prove more competent. In fact----"

"That will do, Sidney," said his wife; "if Lady Harriet and the
Committee did not consider me competent to be the Queen they would not
have asked me." And Mr. Stimpson said no more.

"Pardon," Mr. Treuherz said, looking at him with solemn surprise,
"but--who is _this_?"

"This is my husband, Mr. Troitz--let me introduce him."

"Your husband. Then, he will be the King!"

"The King?" cried Mr. Stimpson, "why, really, I'm not sure that would be
altogether in my line."

"Nonsense, Sidney. Of _course_ you will be the King if they want you!
And this is my son, Clarence, Mr. Troitz. My daughters, Edna and Ruby."

"A Crown Prince!" cried Treuherz, and bent low to each in turn. "And
two--no, I mistake--_three_ Princesses! Ah, it is too much for me
altogether!"

It was almost too much for Ruby, who giggled helplessly, while even
Daphne had to bite her lip rather hard for a moment.

"The other young lady," corrected Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, "is merely my
daughter Ruby's governess--Miss Heritage. But if you like to find a
place for her as one of my ladies of honour or something, I have no
objection to her accepting a part," she added, reflecting that Miss
Heritage's manners and appearance would add to the family importance,
while it would be a comfort to have an attendant who could not give
herself such airs as might a girl belonging to a county family.

"Naturally," said Treuherz, inclining himself again. "Any member of your
Majesty's household you desire to bring."

"Very well; I suppose, Miss Heritage, you have no objection? Then you
will accompany us, please. And now, Mr. Troitz, about when shall we be
wanted?"

"When?" he replied. "But now! At once. Already I have the car waiting!"

"Now?" exclaimed Clarence; "rum time to rehearse--what?"

"Who said anything about rehearsing, Clarence?" said his mother
impatiently. "It's necessary for them to see us and talk over the
arrangements. It's not likely to take long."

"But it'll do later, my love," put in Mr. Stimpson, who did not like the
idea of turning out without his dinner. "Fact is, Mr. Troitz, we were
just about to sit down to dinner. Why not keep the car waiting a bit and
join us? No ceremony, you know--just as you _are_!"

"Sire, I regret that it is impossible," he said. "I have undertaken to
convey you with all possible speed. If we delay I cannot answer for what
may happen."

"You hear what Mr. Troitz says, Sidney," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson,
alarmed at the idea of another being chosen in her absence. "What _does_
it matter if we do dine a little late? Children, we must go and put on
our things at once--your warmest cloaks, mind--we're sure to find it
cold motoring. Sidney and Clarence, you had better get your coats on--we
shall be down directly."

Mr. Treuherz and the heralds stood at attention in the hall. While
Clarence and his father struggled into their great-coats, neither of
them in a very good temper, Mr. Stimpson being annoyed at postponing his
dinner for what he called "tomfoolery," and Clarence secretly sulky
because his parent could not be induced to see the propriety of going up
to change his tie.

"I haven't _yet_ made out, Mother," said Edna, as they came downstairs,
"exactly where we're going to--or what we're expected to do when we get
there."

"It will either be The Hermitage--Lady Harriet's, you know--or Mr.
Troitz's country house, wherever _that_ is. And, of course, the
Committee require to know what times will suit us for rehearsing."

"I wish you'd settle it all without _me_," complained Edna. "I'd much
rather stay at home, and run over my lecture notes.... Well, if I must
come, I shall bring my note-book with me in case I'm bored." And she ran
into the drawing-room, and came back with the note-book, rather as an
emblem of her own intellectual superiority than with any intention of
referring to it. However, as will be found later, the manuscript proved
to be of some service in the future.

Daphne and Ruby were the last to join the party in the hall, Ruby wildly
excited at the unexpected jaunt and the prospects of not going to bed
till ever so late, and Daphne, though a little doubtful whether Mrs.
Stimpson was quite justified in bringing her, inclined to welcome almost
any change from the evening _routine_ of "Inglegarth." And then, after
Mrs. Stimpson had given some hurried instructions to the hopelessly
mystified Mitchell, the whole family issued out of the Queen Anne porch,
and were conducted by Treuherz, who, to their intense confusion,
insisted on walking backwards to the car, while the heralds performed
another flourish on their silver trumpets. It was pitch-dark when they
had got to the asphalt pavement outside their gates, but they could just
make out the contours of the car in the light that streamed across the
hedge to the stained glass front-door.

"Jolly queer-looking car," said Clarence. It was certainly unusually
large, and seemed to have somewhat fantastic lines and decorations.

"Oh, never mind about the car!" cried Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, who was
inside it already, a vague, bundled-up shape in the gloom. "It's part of
the Pageant, of course! Get in, Clarence, get in! We're late as it is!
and if there's a thing I detest, it's keeping people waiting!"

"All right, Mater!" said Clarence, clambering in. "I can't make out what
the dickens they've done with the bonnet--but we seem to be moving,
what?"

Slowly the car had begun to glide along the road. Mr. Treuherz was
seated in front, probably at the steering-wheel, though none was
visible. The heralds sat in the rear, and the car was of such a size
that there was abundant room for the family in the centre. Some yards
ahead they heard a curious dry rustle and clatter, and could distinguish
a confused grey mass of forms that seemed to be clearing the way for
them, though whether they were human beings it was not possible to tell
till they passed a lighted street-lamp.

"Why, goodness gracious!" exclaimed Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, "they look
like--like _ostriches_!"

She was mistaken here, because they were merely storks, but, before she
could identify them more correctly, they all suddenly rose in the air
with a whirr like that of a hundred spinning looms--and the car rose
with them.

"Stop!" screamed Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, "Sidney, tell Mr. Troitz to
stop! I _insist_ on knowing where we are being taken to!"

Treuherz glanced over his shoulder. "Where should I conduct your
Majesties," he said, "but to your own Kingdom of Märchenland?"

Mrs. Stimpson and her husband would no doubt have protested, demanded
explanations, insisted upon being put down at once, had they been able;
but, whether it was that the car had some peculiarly soporific tendency,
or whether it was merely the sudden swift rush through the upper air, a
torpor had already fallen on the whole Stimpson family. It was even
questionable if they remained long enough awake to hear their
destination.

Daphne, for some reason, did not fall asleep till later. She lay back in
her luxuriously cushioned seat, watching the birds as they flew, spread
out in a wide fan against the dusky blue evening sky. Gablehurst, with
its scattered lights, artistic villa-residences, and prosaic railway
station--its valley and common and wooded hills, were far below and soon
left behind at an ever increasing distance. But she did not feel in the
least afraid. It was odd, but, after the first surprise, she had lost
all sense of strangeness in a situation so foreign to all her previous
experience.

"So we're being taken to Märchenland," she was thinking. "That's the
same as Fairyland, practically. At least it's where all the things they
call Fairy stories really happened, and--_why_ I can't imagine--but Mr.
and Mrs. Stimpson have been chosen King and Queen! And the poor dear
things have no idea of it yet! Oh, I wonder" (and here, no doubt, the
little creases came into her cheeks again, for she laughed softly to
herself), "I _wonder_ what they'll say or do when they find out!" And
while Daphne was still wondering, her eyelids closed gently, and she,
too, was sleeping soundly.




CHAPTER III

FINE FEATHERS


Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson was the first of her party to recover
consciousness. When she did, she was greatly surprised to find that it
was broad daylight, and that she was lying on a grassy slope, behind
which was a forest of huge pines. Close beside her were the recumbent
forms of her husband and family, which led her to the natural conclusion
that the car must have met with an accident.

"Sidney!" she cried, shaking him by the shoulder. "Speak to me!
You're--you're not _seriously_ hurt, are you?"

"Eh, what?" he replied sleepily, and evidently imagining that he was
comfortably in bed at home; "all right, my dear, all right! I'll get up
and bring in the tea-tray presently. Lots of time.... Why, hullo!" he
exclaimed, after being shaken once more, as he sat up and rubbed his
eyes. "How do we all come to be _here_?"

The others were awake by this time. "And now we're here," put in
Clarence, "where _are_ we, eh, Mater?"

"It is no use asking _me_, Clarence. I know no more than you do. The
last thing I remember was our all getting into the car to go and see the
Pageant Committee. I've a vague recollection of ostriches--but no, I
must have been dreaming _them_. However, the car seems to have upset
somehow, only I don't see it about anywhere."

"No," said Mr. Stimpson, "or old Thingumagig, or those fellows with the
trumpets either."

"Dumped us down here, and gone off with the car," said Clarence. "Looks
as if we'd been the victims of a practical joke, what?"

"They would never dare to do that!" said his Mother. "I expect they have
missed their way in the dark. Very careless of them. I don't know what
Lady Harriet and the Committee will think of me. They'll probably ask
somebody else to take the part of Queen before we can get there--for I'm
sure we must be a good hundred miles away from Gablehurst!"

"The Baron said that he was taking us to Märchenland, Mrs. Stimpson,"
said Daphne; "and I'm _almost_ sure that that is where we really are."

"And where may Märchenland be?" inquired Mrs. Stimpson sharply. "I never
heard of it myself."

"Well," said Daphne, "it's another name for--for Fairyland, you know."

"Fairyland indeed!" replied Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson with some
irritation. "You will find it difficult to persuade me to believe that I
am in _Fairyland_, Miss Heritage! To begin with, there is no such place,
and if there was, perhaps you will kindly tell me how we could possibly
have got to it?"

"Through the air," explained Daphne patiently. "That car was drawn by
_storks_, you see--not ostriches."

"When you have _quite_ woke up, Miss Heritage," said Mrs. Stimpson, "you
will realise what nonsense you are talking."

"Whatever this place is," said Clarence, "it don't look English,
somehow, to _me_. I mean to say--that town over there--what?" He
pointed across the wide plain to a cluster of towers, spires, gables,
and pinnacles which glittered and gleamed faintly through the shimmering
morning haze.

"It certainly has rather a Continental appearance," observed his father.

"If it has," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, "it is only some buildings or
scenery or something they have run up for the Pageant. So we haven't
been taken in the wrong direction after all."

"_I_ believe, Mummy," chirped Ruby, "Miss Heritage is right, and this
_is_ Fairyland."

"Don't be so ridiculous, child! You'll believe next that we came here in
a car drawn by flying storks, I suppose!"

"D'you know, Mater," said Clarence, "I'm not so sure we mayn't have.
What I mean is--there's some sort of flying machine coming along now. I
grant you it isn't drawn by storks, but they're _birds_ anyhow, and
there seems to be some one in the car too."

"Nothing of the kind!" declared Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson obstinately. "At
least one may fancy one sees anything with the sun in our eyes as it is.
Well, upon my word!" she added, still incredulously, as an iridescent
shell-shaped chariot attached to a team of snow-white doves _volplaned_
down from a dizzy height to a spot only a few yards away, "I really
could not have--who, and what can this old person be?"

The occupant of the chariot had already got out of it, and was slowly
coming towards them, supporting herself on a black crutch-handled staff.
As she drew nearer they could see that she was a woman of great age. She
wore a large ruff, a laced stomacher, wide quilted petticoats, and a
pointed hat with a broad brim. Her expression was severe, but not
unkindly, while she evidently considered herself a personage of some
importance.

"She looks exactly like the Fairy Godmother in the pictures," whispered
Ruby.

"Whoever she may be," said her Mother, scrambling to her feet with more
haste than dignity, "I suppose I shall have to go and speak to her, as I
presume I am the person she has come to meet."

However, it was Daphne who was addressed by the new-comer.

"The Court Chamberlain, Baron Treuherz von Eisenbänden, has brought me
the glad tidings of your arrival, my child," she said in a high cracked
voice, "and, as the high official Court Godmother to the Royal Family, I
felt that I should be the first to bid you welcome."

This was more than Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson could be expected to stand
without a protest.

"Pardon me," she said, throwing back her cloak as though she were in
need of air, "pardon me, Madam, but I think you are mistaking my
daughter's governess for _me_. I am Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson!"

The old lady turned sharply, and as her eyes fell on the matron's
indignant face and heaving bosom, she instantly became deferential and
almost apologetic. "You must forgive me, my dear," she said, "for not
recognising you before. But at my age--I may tell you I am nearing the
end of my second century--one is apt to forget the flight of Time. Or it
may be that Time in your world flies more quickly than in ours. I did
not stay to hear more from the Baron than that he had succeeded in
finding our Queen, and, to be quite plain with you, I was unprepared to
find you so mature."

Then, thought Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson confusedly, she _had_ been brought
here for the Pageant after all. But what very odd people seemed to be
getting it up!

"Baron--whatever his name is, appeared to be quite satisfied that I was
suited to the part," she said coldly. "Of course, if you require someone
younger----"

"There can be no manner of doubt, my dear, that you are the Queen we
have been seeking, so the mere fact that you are rather older than some
of us expected is of no importance whatever."

"Thank you," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson. "I do not consider myself
more than middle-aged, and have generally been taken for younger than I
am, Mrs. ----, I haven't the pleasure of knowing your name."

"Here they call me the Fairy Vogelflug; in the neighbouring Kingdom of
Clairdelune my name is Voldoiseau. I have officiated as Court Godmother
to the reigning Royal families in both countries for many generations."

"I _thought_ you were a Fairy Godmother!" cried Ruby; "and I'm sure
you're a _good_ Fairy, and can do all sorts of wonderful things."

"I used to, my child, in my younger days, but my powers are not what
they were, and I seldom exercise them now, because it exhausts me too
severely to do so. Once there were several of us Court Godmothers, but I
am the only one left, and my health is so poor that I can do little for
my God-children but give them moral teaching and wise counsel. However,
such good offices as I can still render shall be entirely at your
service."

"You are very kind," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, resenting the other's
air of patronage, "but all my children are already provided with
God-parents. As you tell me you are a Fairy," she continued, "I suppose
I must accept your word for it--but it will take a great deal more than
that to make me believe that we are in Fairyland."

"I thought," said the Fairy, "you already knew that the name of this
country is Märchenland."

It should be said here once for all that the Wibberley-Stimpsons found
no difficulty in understanding, or making themselves perfectly
intelligible to any Märchenlanders, although they always had a curious
feeling that they were conversing in a foreign language.

"Whatever the country is called," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson
aggressively, "I should like some explanation of that Baron Troitz's
conduct in entrapping us into coming here. I was distinctly given to
understand that I had been chosen to be the Queen at our local Pageant,
and that we were being taken to talk over the arrangements with the
Committee. Now he has gone off in the most ungentlemanly way, and left
us stranded and helpless here!"

"You must have misunderstood the good Baron," said the Fairy Vogelflug;
"and he is far too loyal to desert you. He has merely hastened on to
Eswareinmal, the city whose walls and towers you see yonder, to prepare
for your reception. As you probably know, he has devoted himself with
the most untiring zeal to his mission of seeking you out and restoring
you to your inheritance."

"He never said a word about that to me--not a word. If I am really
entitled to any property in this country, I should be glad to know
where it is situated, and what is its exact value."

"Then," said the Fairy, "I may inform you that you are entitled, as the
daughter of your late Father--our long-lost and much-lamented Prince
Chrysopras--to no less a possession than the Crown of Märchenland."

"You--you don't _say_ so!" gasped Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson. "The Crown
of--Sidney, did you hear _that_."

"It's some mistake, my dear," he said. "Must be! ... My wife's father,
Ma'am, though in some respects--a--a remarkable character, was never a
Prince--at least that _I've_ heard of."

"It doesn't at all follow, Sidney," said his wife in a nettled tone,
"that anything you don't happen to have heard of is not a fact. There
always _was_ a mystery about poor dear Papa's origin. He was most
reticent about it--even with me. And I know it was rumoured that
Prinsley was not his real name. So it would not surprise me in the least
if Mrs. Fogleplug turned out to be right, though I cannot say till she
gives us further particulars."

"I will do so most willingly," said the Fairy. "But as it will take me
some time to relate them, I should strongly advise you all to sit down."

They seated themselves round her in a semicircle, and presently she
began:

"You must know," she said, "that our mighty and gracious Sovereign, the
late King Smaragd, was twice wedded. By his first wife he had an only
son, Prince Chrysopras, a gallant and goodly prince, beloved not only by
his father, but by the whole nation. Well, after mourning his first wife
for a longer period than is customary, King Smaragd took to himself
another, who was much younger than himself, besides being marvellously
beautiful."

"And of course she hated the poor Prince," said Ruby. "Stepmothers
always do in the stories."

"I have not said she hated him," said the Court Godmother, who did not
like her points to be anticipated. "On the contrary, she treated him
with every mark of affection, and was constantly bestowing on him gifts
of the costliest description. One day she presented him with a wondrous
mechanical horse, fiercer and more mettlesome than even the steeds that
are born in Märchenland."

"Motor-bike, what," suggested Clarence sapiently.

"A mechanical horse is what I _said_," repeated the Fairy, "resembling
others in shape and beauty, but made of metal. Prince Chrysopras, being
a skilful and fearless horseman----"

"Indeed he was!" put in Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson. "He used to ride
regularly in the Row, almost to the last. On 'Joggles,' such a dear
brown fat cob. He was one of what I believe was known as 'The Liver
Brigade' ... a fact which for some reason I can't pretend to fathom
seems to be causing you amusement, Miss Heritage."

Daphne, whose sense of humour was occasionally an inconvenience to her,
had certainly found the notion of a Fairy Prince in the Liver Brigade a
little too much for her gravity. However, she attributed her lapse to
the name of the horse.

"It was the name they gave it at the Livery Stables," said Mrs.
Wibberley-Stimpson. "And I really cannot see myself--but we are
interrupting this good lady here."

"You are," said the Fairy. "I was about to say that Prince Chrysopras
was greatly delighted by his Royal Stepmother's gift, and at once leapt
on the back of the strange steed."

"What I call asking for trouble," commented Clarence.

"_I_ know what happened!" Ruby struck in eagerly. "It flew right up into
the air with him, and poor Grandpapa fell off."

"If he had, none of you would be here at the moment," said the Fairy.
"Don't be in such a hurry, my child. He was much too good a rider to
fall off. But the horse flew up and up with him till both could no
longer be seen. The remains of the steed were found long afterwards on a
mountain top. But nothing more was ever seen of the Prince, who was
supposed to have perished in one of our lakes."

"Then he must have fallen off after all," insisted Ruby.

"No, no, Ruby," said her mother, with a sense that, where the credit of
her family was concerned, nothing was too improbable for belief; "the
horse flew with him to England, or _somewhere_ in Europe--or else he
couldn't have met your dear grandmother, whom none of you ever saw, for
she died long before you were born. And I expect that, after he got off,
the horse flew back again, and was just able to get to Märchenland
before the machinery broke down. And dear Papa very naturally would not
care for people to know that he had got there by such peculiar means,
which accounts for my never having heard of it before."

"Exactly," said the Fairy Vogelflug; "but King Smaragd only knew that
his son was lost to him, and when he discovered that the horse was
enchanted, and that his Queen had bribed the Hereditary Grand Magician
to construct it, his anger knew no bounds."

"Enough to annoy anybody," said Mr. Wibberley-Stimpson. "I should
certainly----"

"He ordered," the Fairy went on, without appearing to feel any interest
in what Mr. Stimpson would have done in similar circumstances, "both the
Queen and the Grand Magician to be enclosed in a barrel, the inside of
which had been set with sharp nails, and rolled down into the lake from
the top of the mountain."

"I should say myself," remarked Mr. Stimpson, "that that was going a
little too far. But he certainly had great provocation."

"He also commanded that all wizards and enchanters should renounce their
practices for ever, and adopt some other calling, or be banished from
the Country."

"There," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson approvingly, "I think he was _so_
right. I would never encourage any of those clairvoyant people myself.
And did he marry a third wife at all?"

"Not if he was wise!" said Clarence.

"No, although it grieved him sorely that he had no heir to succeed him.
But towards the end of his days, he dreamed repeatedly that his son was
yet living. He beheld him in these visions a wanderer in some far-off
land, earning his bread as a musician, for in Music he had rare skill."

"I fancy he must have given it up when he took to Finance," said Mrs.
Wibberley-Stimpson, "though he kept his taste for it. I well remember
his buying a beautiful orchestrion which used to be in the Picture
Gallery."

"Well," pursued the Fairy, "in further dreams it was revealed to the
King that his son was married to one, who, though not of his own race or
rank, was both gently born and very fair to see."

"Pollentine was the maiden name of your Grandmother on _my_ side, my
dears," explained Mrs. Stimpson to her family. "She must have been
good-looking as a girl, judging by a daguerrotype I had of her. Her
father was a highly distinguished Auctioneer and Estate Agent in East
Croydon, as I daresay was also revealed in the King's dream."

"Of that I can say nothing," replied the Court Godmother; "but I know
that further visions showed him his son as a widower with an only
daughter, and later still that he was no longer living. And so much was
the King impressed that he caused a search to be made for this
grand-daughter of his in every country that is known to us. Even when he
lay on his death-bed he did not give up hope that she would be found,
and so he left his Kingdom in charge of his trusted favourite Marshal
Federhelm as Regent, with strict injunctions to continue seeking for the
missing Queen."

"And how," inquired Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, "did the Marshal manage to
find me out?"

"It was not he. He soon convinced himself that all further endeavours
were useless. No, it is to the devotion of our worthy Court Chamberlain,
the Baron Treuherz von Eisenbänden, that your discovery is owing. He had
grieved so deeply to see Märchenland without a Sovereign that, after the
example of 'Faithful John,' the founder of his family, he had placed
iron hoops round his chest to keep his heart from breaking."

"We heard 'em go," said Clarence; "thought it was only his braces."

"At length," continued the Fairy, "the Baron went in secret to Xuriel,
the Astrologer Royal, and induced him to consult the stars. Which Xuriel
did, and by much study and intricate calculation he succeeded in
ascertaining the exact spot in the other world where the Queen would be
discovered, and even the means by which she might be recognised."

"Ah," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, "I shall begin to believe in
Astronomy after this. But even now I don't _quite_ understand how Baron
Troitz got to 'Inglegarth.'"

"That was by _my_ assistance. I placed my travelling car at his service,
with the wise storks that fly straight to any place to which they are
directed, even though they may never have heard of it before. Happily
for Märchenland, Xuriel's calculations have proved correct, except that
he did not foresee that the Baron would bring back two Sovereigns
instead of one."

"What--is the Gov'nor going to be King?" inquired Clarence. "My hat!"

"That would be ridiculous, Clarence," said his mother, "when your Father
hasn't a drop of Royal blood in his veins! He can't even rank as Prince
Consort!"

"Not so, my dear, not so," corrected the Fairy, "by the custom of
Märchenland, anyone who weds the Sovereign shares the throne, and your
husband will be as truly the King of this Country as you will be its
Queen."

"Oh, is _that_ the rule?" said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, not best
pleased. "Well, Sidney, I trust you will show yourself equal to your
position, that is all."

"I trust so, my love," he replied uneasily. "It--it's come on me at
rather short notice. However!"

"If Daddy and Mums are King and Queen," asked Ruby, "will Edna and me be
Princesses?"

"Undoubtedly you will," said the Court Godmother.

"Then Clarence will be a Prince. So you see, Miss Heritage, dear, you
_have_ met a Prince after all!"

"Shut up, Kiddie!" said the new Crown Prince in some confusion.

"And what will Miss Heritage be, Mummy?"

"Miss Heritage will be what she was before, my dear--your governess."

"But I shan't want one any more--we're in Fairyland now--and Fairy
Princesses haven't got to do lessons. Oh, Mums, couldn't you make Miss
Heritage a Princess too? Do!"

"Why not?" said the Fairy, glancing at Daphne, whose colour had risen
slightly. "Anybody might very well take her to be one as it is."

"Miss Heritage," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, "has, I am sure, too much
good sense to expect a title of any kind. She will continue to be my
daughter's instructress, and I may possibly find a place for her as
Mistress of the Robes or something; but it's much too early to say
anything definite at--Really, Edna," she broke off suddenly, "how you
can sit there calmly reading as if nothing had happened!"

"I was merely running through my lecture-notes again, Mother," said
Edna. "If I _am_ a Princess," she added, for the benefit of the Court
Godmother, "that is no reason why I shouldn't go on cultivating my
mind."

"Now you're a Princess, my dear," replied her mother, "it doesn't
signify to anybody whether your mind is cultivated or not."

"It signifies a great deal to _me_, mother," said Edna, and resumed the
study of her notes with an air of conscious merit.

"I must say _one_ thing, Mrs. Fogleplug," Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson
proceeded; "it would have been more considerate if I had been given
proper notice, and a reasonable time to prepare for such a complete
change as this. I do feel _that_."

She did; it was a great deprivation to her to have lost the opportunity
of mentioning casually to her Gablehurst friends--and Lady Harriet
especially--that she would shortly be leaving them to occupy a throne.

"Precisely my own feeling," said Mr. Stimpson, thinking regretfully how
the news would have made that confounded fellow Thistleton sit up, and
of the sensation it might have produced in the train to the City. "It
is, to say the least of it, unfortunate that I had no time to
communicate with the other members of my firm."

"And there's Clarence, too!" said his fond mother. "His Company will be
quite helpless without him!"

"They may be in a bit of a hole at first," he admitted, thankful now
that he had said nothing about his resignation, or the readiness with
which it had been accepted. "Still, no fellow is indispensable. What?"

The Fairy explained that haste had been unavoidable, as it might have
been injurious to the storks if they had remained longer in a climate to
which they were unaccustomed.

"But why send storks to fetch us at all?" demanded Mrs.
Wibberley-Stimpson. "Why not some more modern conveyance?... There they
are again with the car--coming back for us, I expect.... Yes, I can make
out Baron Troitz and the trumpeters--and there seems to be a gentleman
in armour with them."

"The Regent, Marshal Federhelm," said the Fairy. "He is coming to offer
his congratulations."

"Is he?" cried Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, scrambling to her feet again in
some dismay. "A Regent! I--I wish I knew the proper way of addressing
him!"

The storks by this time had brought the car to ground, and were now
standing about on one leg with folded wings and an air of detachment.
The Marshal alighted and advanced slowly towards the Stimpsons while the
heralds sounded their trumpets.

He made a formidable and warrior-like figure in his golden half-armour
of a kind unknown to antiquarians, and great jack-boots of gilded
leather. He was tall, and the towering mass of waving feathers that
crowned his helmet made him look taller still. His vizor was raised,
showing a swarthy, hook-nosed face, with quick, restless eyes like a
lizard's, a fierce moustache, and a bristling beard that spread out in a
stiff black fan.

"_You_ had better speak to him, Sidney," whispered his wife, overcome by
sudden panic; "I really can't."

"Er--" began Mr. Stimpson nervously, "I believe I have the pleasure of
addressing the Regent. We--we're the new King and Queen, you know, and
these are the other members of the family."

The Marshal seemed a little taken aback at first, but he promptly
recovered himself, and bending so low that his feathers brushed Mrs.
Wibberley-Stimpson's nose, he placed in her hand a small velvet-covered
baton studded with gold stars.

"Oh, thank you very much, I'm sure," she said. "It's quite charming. Has
it got an address or anything inside it?"

"The symbol of my authority, your Majesty," he said, with soldierly
curtness. "I have long desired to surrender it to hands more worthy to
govern than mine."

"Very handsome of you to say so," replied Mr. Stimpson; "but I daresay
you aren't altogether sorry to get out of it, eh?"

"It is too lofty a position, Sire, for a rough, simple warrior like
myself," he said. "Nothing but a sense of duty to my country would have
made me accept the Regency at all."

"I am sure," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, "we shall find you have
carried on the Kingdom for us as satisfactorily as possible."

"The people appeared to think so, your Majesty. But I am forgetting the
chief purpose I am here for. I have the honour to announce that the
procession will shortly be on its way to escort your Majesties to your
Coronation, which is to take place this morning in the great church of
Eswareinmal."

"_Coronation!_" Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson almost screamed. "Before we have
so much as had our breakfast! And in these things we are wearing now! I
never heard of anything so preposterous!"

"I don't care much myself," said Mr. Stimpson, "about being crowned on
an empty--without having had something to eat--if it's only an egg."

"If they're going to crown the Guv'nor in a dinner-jacket and white
tie," Clarence muttered to Edna, "we shall never hear the last of it,
that's all!"

"There is nothing to make a fuss about, my dear," said the Court
Godmother to Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, as though she were addressing a
froward child; "look behind you, and you will see that everything you
may require is already provided."

They looked and saw two velvet Marquees, one striped in broad bands of
apple-green and mazarine blue, the other in pale rose and cream, which a
party of attendants had just finished putting up. "In those pavilions,"
continued the Fairy, "you will find not only food prepared for you, but
robes such as are fitting for a Coronation. You will have plenty of time
both to eat and change your dress before the procession can possibly
arrive."

"She's not likely to have got our measurements right," grumbled Mrs.
Wibberley-Stimpson to her eldest daughter, as they moved towards the
rose-and-cream Pavilion. "I should have much preferred to be fitted by a
Court dressmaker. Such a mistake to rush things like this! I rather like
that Marshal, Edna; there's something very gentlemanly and
straightforward about him, though I can't see why he shouldn't wear a
proper uniform instead of that absurd armour."

"Shan't be sorry to get some breakfast, my boy," Mr. Stimpson remarked,
as he and Clarence were making for the other marquee; "I feel a bit
peckish after being so long in the night air."

"I should like a tub first, Guv'nor."

"I'm afraid," said Mr. Stimpson, "that's expecting too much in these
parts."

However, on entering, they discovered, in addition to the delicacies and
gorgeous costumes laid out for them, two great crystal baths filled with
steaming water which exhaled a subtle but delicious perfume.

"Doing us proud, eh, Guv'nor?" was Clarence's comment on the general
luxuriousness; and his father admitted that "everything seemed to have
been done regardless of expense."

While the male and female members of the Royal Party were enjoying the
privacy of their respective tents, the Marshal outside was expressing
his sentiments to the Court Chamberlain with much vigour and freedom.

"Well, Baron," he began, "this is a great service you have done
Märchenland, and I hope you are feeling proud of yourself!"

"Oh, as for that, Marshal," modestly replied the ingenuous Baron, "I
have done no more than my duty."

"The devil take you and your duty," growled the Marshal. "Why, in the
name of all the fiends, couldn't you have left things as they were?"

"But, Marshal," the Baron protested, "when our learned Astrologer Royal
discovered the whereabouts of our lawful Queen, you were loudest in
approval of my expedition!"

"How could I oppose, after you had been gabbling and cackling about it
to the whole Court, and it had even reached the ears of the people?
Besides, I was given to understand that this daughter of Chrysopras's
was a mere girl. If she _had_ been--But what have you brought us?--a
middle-aged matron with a husband and family!"

"I own it was not what I had expected," said the Baron; "but since it
was so, what could I do but bring them all?"

"Do? Left them where they were, of course--come back and said that that
little fool of a Xuriel had made a miscalculation, as he generally
does!"

"I should have been a traitor had I thus denied my Queen. For, as you
have seen, she bears on her breast the very jewel of her father the
Prince, even as the stars foretold."

"Undoubtedly she is his daughter," the Marshal admitted reluctantly. It
never occurred to him for a moment--nor would it occur to any of his
countrymen--that the pendant was anything but absolutely conclusive
proof of Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson's right to the throne. Märchenland
notions of what constitutes legal evidence have always been and remain
elementary.

"But it's pretty plain," he went on, "that the young fool must have made
a most unworthy marriage to have begotten one so utterly lacking in all
queenliness and dignity."

"She will soon acquire both," the Court Chamberlain affirmed stoutly,
"as she becomes more accustomed to her position."

"She may," declared the Marshal, "when a frog grows feathers. And this
consort of hers! _Is_ he a fit Monarch for Märchenland? Even _you_,
Baron, can hardly say that for him! I may not have been beloved as
Regent, but at least I have made my authority respected. But what do
such a couple as this know about ruling a country? They'll make a
hopeless hash of it!"

"Without guidance, perhaps," the Baron admitted; "but they will have the
inestimable advantage, Marshal, of our experience and advice."

"Ha!" said the Marshal. "So they will--so they will! I was forgetting
that!"

"No doubt they will submit to our guidance," went on the Baron, "and
thus we shall be able to save them from any dangerous indiscretions."

"Just so," agreed the Marshal, with the flicker of a smile.

The Court Chamberlain, at all events, spoke in all sincerity. His
hereditary instinct alone would have been enough to ensure his loyalty
to his new Sovereigns, whatever he might think of them in private. And
they were his own "finds," which gave them an added value in his
estimation, as will easily be understood by any collector of
curiosities.




CHAPTER IV

CROWNED HEADS


"'Pon my word, my love," Mr. Stimpson exclaimed, as his wife came
out of her pavilion in her Coronation Robes and chain, attended
by the Court Godmother, "I should hardly have known you! You look
majestic!--abso-lute-ly majestic!"

"I wish I could say the same of _you_, Sidney," she replied; "but, as I
have told you more than once, legs like yours never ought to be seen
except in trousers.... Considering my own and my daughter's robes are
ready-made, Mrs. Fogleplug, they might be worse. As for Miss
Heritage's--well, I should have thought myself that something simpler
would have been more appropriate."

Daphne was naturally much less sumptuously dressed than the Members of
the Royal family, but still, in her quaint double-peaked head-dress,
fantastically slashed bodice, and long hanging sleeves, with her bright
hair, too, waving loosely over her temples, its rich masses confined at
the back by a network of pearls, she was dainty and bewitching enough to
attract more than her due share of attention--Clarence's she attracted
at once, while he was sustained by an agreeable conviction that his
be-jewelled doublet, silken hose, white plumed velvet hat, and azure
mantle set off his figure to unusual advantage.

"Tophole, Miss Heritage!" he said, strolling up with graceful languor.
"I'm not joking--you really _are_, you know! Wish _my_ kit suited me
half as well! Can't help feeling a most awful ass in it, what?"

"Really?" she said carelessly. "How unpleasant for you! But perhaps if
you left off thinking about it----!"

"Oh, I don't say it's so bad as all _that_!"

"I didn't suppose it _was_, quite."

Now this was not by any means the sort of deferential tribute he had
counted upon, and he was a little ruffled by her failure to respond.

"Didn't you," he replied distantly, if somewhat lamely. "You'll excuse
me mentioning it, Miss Heritage, as it's only in your own interests, but
I believe it's considered the proper thing when you're addressed by--by
Royalty, don't you know, to throw in a 'Your Royal Highness'
occasionally. Of course, Court Etiquette and that may be all tosh, but I
didn't make it, and all I mean to say is--it won't do to let it slide."

"Your Royal Highness will not have to rebuke me a second time," said
Daphne, sinking to the ground in a curtsey which it is to be feared was
wilfully exaggerated. "I'm afraid, sir," she added, as the two little
creases in her cheeks made themselves visible, "that wasn't as low as it
ought to have been, but your Royal Highness must make allowances for my
want of experience."

"Oh, you'll soon get into it," he said, "with practice."

"And I shall have plenty of that, your Royal Highness."

Was she trying to pull his leg? he thought, as he moved away, and
decided that she was most unlikely to venture on such presumption. No,
it had been necessary to remind her of the deference due to him, and she
would not forget the lesson in future. Perhaps he might unbend
occasionally in private, but, on second thoughts, that would be more
dangerous than ever now.

Ruby had seized Daphne and was embracing her in a burst of violent
affection. "Oh, Miss Heritage, darling," she cried, "you do look such a
duck in that dress--doesn't she, Mummy?"

"I see no resemblance, my dear," said her mother coldly, "between Miss
Heritage and any description of poultry. And, as the procession will be
here in another minute, you had better take your place quietly by me....
Really, Ruby," she added in an undertone, as the child obeyed, "you must
remember you're a Princess now. It isn't at all proper for you to be
seen pawing your governess about in public."

"I _wasn't_ pawing her about, Mums!" protested Ruby; "only hugging her.
And if I mayn't do that, I don't want to be a Princess at all!"

By this time the procession had arrived. It was headed by a band of
knights in resplendent but rather extravagant armour, carrying lances
with streaming pennons. After them rode the Courtiers on gaily
caparisoned steeds, followed by a bevy of Maids of Honour on
cream-coloured palfreys. A company of soldiers came next, some of whom
bore heavy matchlocks of an ancient period, and the rest pikes and
halberds. However, they marched with as proud and confident a step as
though their weapons were of the very latest pattern--which very likely
they thought they were. Following them was a State Coach, a huge,
cumbrous vehicle with unglazed windows; it seemed to be of pure gold,
and was drawn by sixteen milk-white horses in blue trappings.

After the procession had halted, the Court Chamberlain formally
presented the members of the Royal Household, whose mere titles sounded
impressively on the ear of their new Mistress. There were Prince Tapfer
von Schneiderleinheimer and Prince Hansmeinigel; Baron Müllerbürschen,
Baron von Bohnenranken, and Count von Daumerlingstamm; Princess
Rapunzelhauser, Princess Goldernenfingerleinigen, and Princess
Flachspinnenlosburg; Baroness Belohnte von Haulemännerschen, Baroness
Kluge Bauerngrosstochterheimer, and Countess Gänsehirten am Brunnen, and
many others scarcely less distinguished. Never before had Mrs.
Wibberley-Stimpson been in such aristocratic company, and for the moment
she entirely forgot how immeasurably she was now their social superior.
She had held her own triumphantly with Lady Harriet, but that was
different. There was only one of _her_--and that one a quite ordinary
and insignificant personality compared with these imposingly splendid
lords and ladies-in-waiting.

Mrs. Stimpson intended to be graciously cordial, but somehow her manner
was dangerously near being obsequious. "Most _honoured_, I'm sure,
Prince!" she found herself repeating, as she ducked instinctively. "So
very kind of you to come, Baron!... It's more than delightful to meet
you, dear Princess--I didn't quite catch your name!... _Such_ a
privilege to make your acquaintance, Countess!"

She hoped they would take this as condescension on her part, and they
were undeniably surprised by their Sovereign's excessive affability.

"Well," said Mr. Stimpson, as these amenities became exhausted and he
perceived that no one was taking any notice of him, "what about making a
start, hey, Mr. Marshal?"

"If your Majesties and the Princess will deign to enter the coach, we
can set forth at once," was the reply.

"Get in, children, get in!" cried Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson. "You and
Ruby, Edna, must sit with your backs to the horses, and there will be
plenty of room for Clarence between you."

"With all respect, Sir," said the Marshal, as Clarence was preparing to
get in. "It is the custom on such an occasion as this for the Crown
Prince to ride on the right of the Coach. I have arranged that a horse
shall be at your Royal Highness's service."

"Thanks awfully," said Clarence, as he glanced at a spirited chestnut
mare which two squires were endeavouring with some difficulty to soothe,
"but--er--I think I'd rather drive." He was reflecting, as he took his
seat in the coach, that he would really have to take a few riding
lessons shortly, in private.

"Isn't Miss Heritage coming with us, Mummy?" called Ruby from the
window.

"In the State Coach, my dear! Of course not!"

"But why not, Mater?" protested Clarence. "There's lots of room."

"Because I could not think of allowing it, Clarence. Perhaps Mrs.
Fogleplug will be kind enough to give her a lift in--in her own
conveyance."

"Unfortunately," replied the Court Godmother, "my car will not hold more
than one person."

"Well, Miss Heritage must find her way to the Palace, then! There's no
necessity for her to be present at the Coronation."

"Surely, my dear," said the Fairy, "you would not deprive her of such a
privilege! I will have another saddle placed on that mare so that this
fair maid of yours may ride with your other ladies in waiting."

"Of course, Mrs. Fogleplug, if you're _bent_ on Miss Heritage making a
public exhibition of herself," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, "I have
nothing to say. I don't suppose she has ever been on a horse in her
life!"

"Oh, but I have, Ma'am!" Daphne pleaded eagerly. "I've ridden ever since
I was a child. And I'd love to ride that mare, if I may!"

"Oh, very _well_, Miss Heritage, ve-ry well. But remember, if you break
your neck, _I_ shall not accept any responsibility," which Daphne took
as a permission. As soon as Mr. and Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson had taken
their seats, the sixteen milk-white horses began to pull and strain till
eventually the great coach was on the way.

"Mummy," cried Ruby a little later, "I can see Miss Heritage! She's
riding close behind. And oh, she _does_ look so sweet on horseback!"

"Put your head in,--do, child!" said her mother sharply. "Whatever will
the people think if they see a Princess hanging half out of the window
like that!"

Ruby sat down rather sullenly. Clarence would have liked to put his own
head out if it had been consistent with his dignity as a Prince. As it
was, he could only hope that Daphne would come to no harm. "Really!"
continued Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, "what with one's governess riding
behind one's coach, and those two ridiculous bird-cars probably flapping
overhead, this is _quite_ unlike any Coronation Procession _I_ ever
heard of!"

"More like a bally Circus," remarked Clarence. "Only wants a couple of
clowns with bladders on horseback and a performing elephant."

"_I_ consider," said his mother, "that a State procession should have
more solemnity about it.... How horribly this coach jolts! It _can't_
have any springs!... There you are again, Edna, buried in that
note-book! you might show a little interest in what is going on!"

"I'm sorry, mother, but it all seems to mean so little to me."

"Then all I can say is--good gracious, _what_ a lurch! I quite thought
we were over!--all _I_ can say is that it's unnatural to be so
abstracted as you are. We're getting close to Eswar--whatever they call
it. If you look round you will see the walls and towers."

Edna adapted her _pince-nez_ and turned perfunctorily for a moment.
"_Quite_ quaint!" she said, and resumed her reading.

"Picturesque, _I_ should call it," corrected her mother. "Sidney,
doesn't it put you in mind of dear lovely Lucerne?"

"Very much so, my love," he replied, "or--er--Venice" (neither of which
cities, as a matter of fact, did Eswareinmal resemble in the least).
"Hullo! what are we stopping for _now_, eh?"

It seemed they had arrived at the principal gates of the Capital, where
the Burgomaster and other civic dignitaries were assembled to welcome
and to do them homage, which they did with every sign of respect and
loyalty. As Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson felt unequal to the efforts of
responding, that duty devolved on her husband, who presented himself at
the window of the coach, and made what the reporters, had any been
present, would no doubt have described as "a few gracious and
appropriate remarks."

"You needn't have said that about 'doing our best to give satisfaction,'
Sidney!" complained his wife after the coach had thundered over the
drawbridge, and was lumbering under the massive archway into a narrow
and crowded street, "for all the world as if we had been a butler and
housekeeper applying for a situation!"

"It _was_ a little unfortunate, perhaps, my dear," he admitted; "but it
is so difficult to know what to say when one has to speak impromptu."

"It ought to be easy enough to know what _not_ to say," she retorted.
"Dear me, what hosts of people!" she went on, as her irritation merged
into complacency. "And _how_ pleased they all seem to see us! But no
doubt, after a bachelor Regent, a whole Royal family--I love to see
their happy smiling faces!"

"Grinning mugs would be nearer the mark, Mater," said Clarence; "never
saw such a chuckle-headed lot of bumpkins in my life!"

"I will thank you to remember, Clarence," she replied, "that they are my
loyal subjects, and will be _yours_ at some time to come."

"I can _wait_ for 'em," he said; "and if they're so jolly loyal, why
ain't they cheering more?"

Slowly the golden coach progressed through winding streets of gabled or
step-roofed houses with toppling overhanging stories, then along one
side of a great square, packed with people in costume, the women
recalling to Mrs. Stimpson's mind, quite inappropriately, the waitresses
at the Rigi Kulm hotel on a Sunday. Then, through more narrow streets,
to a smaller square, where it stopped at some steps leading to the huge
West portal of a magnificent buttressed Church.

"All change here--for the Coronation!" said Clarence. "I'd better nip
out first, eh, Mater?"

"Your father and I get out first, naturally, Clarence," said Mrs.
Wibberley-Stimpson, and descended majestically, Mr. Stimpson following
with somewhat less effect owing to an attack of cramp in his left leg.
Four small pages stepped forward in pairs to carry Mr. and Mrs.
Stimpson's trains, which they found a distinct convenience, and, hand in
hand, they passed through the great, elaborately niched and statued
doorway into the nave. The interior was thronged by all the notables of
Märchenland, including the venerable President of the Council and his
Councillors. Above, the light struck in shafts through the painted
windows of the clerestory, tinging the haze of incense fumes with faint
colours. On the high altar twinkled innumerable tapers. "_Roman!_ as I
suspected!" whispered Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson on seeing them, and
sniffing the scented atmosphere. (She had attended St. John's at
Gablehurst, because the vicar, although Evangelical, was well-known to
be of good family.) Under a crimson canopy in the choir were two golden
chairs which they understood they were expected to sit upon, and
occupied accordingly. A mitred and coped ecclesiastic, who appeared to
be some kind of Bishop, then shepherded them benevolently through a
series of mystic rites that, besides being hopelessly unintelligible,
seemed unreasonably protracted. However, they reached the climax at
last, and amidst the tumultuous acclamations of the spectators the
previously anointed heads of King Sidney and Queen Selina, as they must
henceforth be described, received their respective crowns.

"Ha, well," remarked King Sidney, when he and the rest of the Royal
family were once more in the coach, and on their way towards the palace
that was to be their future home, "we got through it most successfully
on the whole. Perhaps the Bishop was a little too lavish with the
anointing part of the ceremony. Still, taken altogether, it was--ah--a
very solemnising affair."

"It would have been more so, Sidney," said the Queen, "if you hadn't
kept on dropping your sceptre and tripping over your train. I don't
wonder the Bishop got flustered. But I do wish we could have had it
properly done by the dear Archbishop of Canterbury!"

"Bit out of his diocese, Märchenland, what?" said the Crown Prince.

"I'm aware of that, Clarence; and, of course, we're legally crowned,
whoever did it.... Sidney, it's only just struck me, but I'm sure we
ought to be bowing. Bow, children, all of you--take the time from me.
Sidney, why aren't _you_ bowing?"

"I can't, my love. It's difficult enough to keep my crown on as it is!"

"You can hold it on with one hand, can't you? You simply _must_ bow if
you don't want to be unpopular! So must _you_, children. Keep _on_ with
it!"

"Give us a rest, Mater," said Prince Clarence, after they had been
nodding like Chinese mandarins for some minutes. "My neck's beginning to
wilt already!"

Queen Selina herself was not sorry to stop. "It's certainly very
fatiguing at first," she admitted; "we must practise it together in
private.... Was that old Mrs. Fogleplug's dove-chariot that passed us
just now? I'm afraid I shall have to put her in her place. She's rather
inclined to forget herself--not only addressed me as 'my dear,' but
actually attempted to kiss me after the Coronation!"

"So she did _me_!" said the Princess Royal, "but I hope I showed that I
thought she was taking a liberty."

"She's a very worthy, well-meaning old creature, no doubt," remarked the
Queen; "still, a Fairy Godmother in these days is really _rather_--I
shall have to get her to retire--on a pension."

"She'll stick on," said Prince Clarence, "you see if she don't. Means to
boss the whole show."

"I shall soon let her see that I intend to be mistress in my own
Kingdom," said the Queen. "I could wish, I must say, that it was just a
little more up to date! Everything so dreadfully behind the times! I
haven't seen a shop yet with a plate-glass front, and not a single
pillar-box!"

"Poor sort of place for Suffragettes, what?" observed Clarence.

"Frivolity apart, Clarence," remarked the Queen, "I can see already that
there is much to be done here before the country can be called really
civilised. We must set ourselves to raise the standard by introducing
modern ideas--enlighten people's minds, and all the rest of it. And you
must do _your_ share, Sidney, as I shall do mine."

"Certainly," said the King; "I'm agreeable. All for progress myself.
Always have been.... I fancy that must be our Palace up there. A truly
palatial residence--replete, I've no doubt, with every convenience we
can require."

The State Coach, after making a leisurely circuit of the two sides of
the principal square, was now beginning the ascent of the steep zigzag
road to the Palace, which stood on the terraced height of the plateau
that commanded the city. The party in the coach caught glimpses of its
massive but ornate towers with fantastic spires and turrets, and its
great arched and columned wings of rose-tinted marble. As it was rather
larger than Windsor Castle, King Sidney's commendation was fairly
justified.

But Queen Selina's mind was occupied in computing the probable number of
rooms, and the maids that would be required to "do" them, while she
wondered aloud whether they could possibly afford to keep such a place
up.

"Depend upon it, my dear," said the King, "the--ah--State will provide
an ample allowance for all our expenses. I must go into that as soon as
an opportunity occurs, and find out exactly what our income will be."

Little more was said after this, as the great coach creaked and groaned
slowly up the winding road, and then rolled through the golden gates
into the courtyard of the Palace.

On the steps of the chief entrance were Marshal Federhelm, Baron von
Eisenbänden, and the Court Godmother, who, with the rest of the Royal
household, had hastened on ahead to receive them. The Marshal ushered
them into the Hall of Entrance, which was immense and cool. There they
found the ladies and gentlemen-in-waiting drawn up in curtseying and
bowing ranks. The colours of their gay costumes would have been
dazzling, had they not been somewhat toned down by the subdued light
from the windows, which were paned with transparent agate set in
tracery of a flamboyant type. At the back rose a colossal staircase of
jasper. On either side were lofty doors leading to vestibules,
corridors, and reception halls.

Judged by Gablehurst standards, the general effect of the interior was
hardly 'home-y' or cosy enough to be perfectly satisfactory, as Queen
Selina seemed to feel, for the only comment she made was: "_No_ china
punch-bowl for visiting-cards, I see!"

"I say," the Crown Prince inquired of the Marshal, "who's the small
sportsman in the extinguisher hat?" he referred to an unassuming little
man with long, lint-coloured hair and pale, prominent eyes, whose
shiftiness was only partly concealed by large horn spectacles. He wore
black and crimson robes embroidered in gold with Zodiacal signs. "Looks
like the Editor of Old Moore's Almanack."

"That, Sir," replied the Marshal, "is the learned Xuriel, our Astrologer
Royal. Will your Majesties permit me to present him?" And, the Royal
assent being given, he went across to fetch the sage.

"Xuriel, my friend," he said in his ear, with a slightly ironical
intonation, "the august Sovereigns who owe their discovery to your
learning and research are naturally anxious to express their
acknowledgements. So come along and be presented, and perhaps you will
produce a better impression if you can manage to look a little less like
a hare with the ear-ache."

It was not, however, the prospect of being presented to Royalty that was
disturbing the Astrologer Royal, but an unpleasant suspicion that the
ex-Regent was, for some reason or other, a little annoyed with him.

"Your Majesties will be interested to hear," explained the Marshal,
after making the presentation, "that Master Xuriel was at one time
noted for his skill as a magician."

"My studies in Magic were never carried very far, your Majesties,"
protested the Astrologer, wriggling uncomfortably. "I--I did very little
at it. And, even before it was decreed that all enchanters and sorcerers
should either leave the Kingdom or take up some other profession, I had
discovered that astrology was my true vocation."

"And you were right," said the Marshal heartily, "as results have shown.
And doubtless there is no truth in the rumour that you still retain some
proficiency in the Black Art."

"Absolutely none, your Majesties!" the Astrologer Royal declared. "What
small skill I ever possessed, I have already forgotten; all my magic
spells have long since been discarded."

"So I should hope," said Queen Selina severely. "Mr. Wibber--I mean, his
Majesty and I are, of course, no believers in Magic, but we are
determined not to allow any superstitions practices here in future--are
we not, Sidney?"

"Certainly, my dear, certainly. Most undesirable. Of course, we don't
object to ordinary conjuring--anything harmless of that sort. But take
my advice, Sir, and stick to Astrology for the future--much more
gentlemanly pursuit!"

The Astrologer Royal promised to observe this recommendation, and just
then the Court Chamberlain announced that a meal had been prepared for
the Royal Family in the King's Parlour, to which he offered to conduct
them at once. And, as the lengthy business of the Coronation had given
them all excellent appetites, they readily welcomed the proposal.

Princess Ruby, catching sight of Daphne in one of the groups, had begged
that she might be included, which the Queen reluctantly granted as an
exceptional indulgence.

Daphne would gladly have excused herself had that been possible; she was
becoming painfully conscious of finding Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson as a
Queen irresistibly ludicrous. Once already that morning she had only
just escaped detection, and she was horribly afraid now that something
might happen which would lead her to betray herself by unseemly
laughter. She could only pray inwardly that it would not, as she
followed with Ruby to the King's Parlour.

This was a lofty hall with windows opening on to the terrace; the walls
were composed of great slabs of malachite, and twisted columns of the
same supported a ceiling of elaborately carved pink jade. At one end was
a dais, where a table was spread with what King Sidney referred to
somewhat disappointedly as "a cold snack," though he did it ample
justice nevertheless.

The Marshal sat on his right hand; at his back stood the Court
Chamberlain, while chubby-faced little pages served cakes of bread on
bended knee, and filled the golden goblets with Märchenland's choicest
wines, which the King considered "a trifle on the sour side." The Royal
Household looked on from a distance--to the exquisite discomfort of the
Queen.

"I really can't enjoy my food, Sidney," she complained in an undertone,
"with every mouthful I take watched by all those members of the
nobility!"

Suddenly she coloured with annoyance as she found she was being
addressed in a gruff, strangled voice from a quarter it was difficult at
first to locate. "Mr. Troitz," she demanded, "_who_ is that
ill-mannered person who seems to be trying to talk to Me with his mouth
full?"

"The voice, your Majesty," he replied in the most matter-of-fact tone,
"appears to proceed from the boar's head."

"How dare you try to impose on me by such a story? It's that wretched
little astrologer man. Ventriloquism and Conjuring always go together,
and I'll be bound he's underneath the table now!... Well," she said,
after she had satisfied herself by looking, "if he's not there, he's
somewhere in the room!"

The Court Chamberlain assured her that the Astrologer Royal was not only
absent, but incapable of such a liberty; it really _was_ the boar's head
that had spoken, as animals in Märchenland would on rare occasions--even
after suffering decapitation.

"There was Falada, Mummy," cried Ruby eagerly. "Don't you remember? The
horse that talked poetry after its head had been cut off and nailed over
the arch! Miss Heritage can tell you all about it."

But Miss Heritage could not--she was far too deeply engaged in wrestling
with an inward demon of unholy mirth that threatened at any moment to
gain the mastery.

The head began again. But whatever felicitations, predictions, or
warning it was striving to utter were rendered practically inarticulate
by a large lemon that had been unfeelingly inserted between its jaws.

"Have the boar's head removed at once, Mr. Troitz," ordered Queen
Selina. "I cannot and will not have it interrupting the conversation
like this. It couldn't happen at all in any _civilised_ country. Why,
we shall have the cold tongue beginning next, I suppose!..."

It was here that poor Daphne's demon got the upper hand.

"You seem slightly hysterical, Miss Heritage," remarked the Queen.
"Horse-exercise evidently has a very bad effect on your nerves, and I
must forbid you to ride in future."

Thus was Daphne punished for her breach of etiquette. But Queen Selina
had no suspicion, even then, of its real extent. She was incapable of
conceiving that she could possibly seem ridiculous to one so infinitely
her inferior.




CHAPTER V

DIGNITY UNDER DIFFICULTIES


The luncheon, after the removal of the too loquacious boar's head,
proceeded, to Daphne's intense relief, without any further incident, and
at its conclusion Queen Selina suggested a move to the terrace. One side
of it faced the City far below; another the slope of the road leading
immediately to the Courtyard, while from the third side steps descended
by lower terraces to the Palace Gardens, which were apparently
boundless. Beyond them, however, was a neglected region of groves and
thickets, a sort of Wilderness, which stretched from the Garden
boundaries to the edge of a plateau below which lay a wild valley, with
a chain of wilder peaks and crags forming the horizon. But none of the
Court had ever cared to explore the Wilderness, if they were even aware
of its existence, so no more need be said of it at present.

The Royal Family leaned upon the parapet of the terrace, whence they had
a bird's-eye view of the big square immediately below, and the
picturesquely irregular buildings, above whose gabled red roofs grim
watch-towers and quaint spires or cupolas rose here and there. Down in
the square swarms of tiny figures were clustering round the public
fountains, which spouted jets that, as they flashed in the afternoon
sun, were seen to be of a purple hue.

"Must be wine," remarked the Crown Prince. "If it's the same tap we had
at lunch, the poor devils have my sympathy!"

"I think, Sidney," said the Queen, "that we ought all to go for a drive
presently--just round the principal streets. I'm sure the--a--populace
would appreciate it."

"If you think it's expected of us, my love," he said. "Otherwise--well,
I should have rather liked to see a little more of the Palace; we don't
even know where our own bedrooms are to be yet."

"The Guv'nor's right there, Mater!" said Prince Clarence. "We'd better
get settled down before we do anything else."

"Perhaps we had," Queen Selina allowed. "I'll get that good old Mrs.
Fogleplug to take us round the house." And after sending for the Court
Godmother, she started, accompanied by the family and several of her
ladies-in-waiting, on a tour of inspection.

Possibly the suites of halls, each more magnificent than the last, the
endless galleries and corridors, the walls decorated with sumptuous but
bizarre hangings, the floors inlaid with marble and precious stones
which were probably priceless and certainly slippery--possibly all these
contributed towards the upsetting of Queen Selina's equanimity, but her
manner was deplorably lacking in dignity and repose. She treated her
ladies, for instance, with a politeness that came nearer subservience
than ever. It was: "_Pray_ go first, dear Princess Rapunzelhauser! After
_you_, Baroness!... Please, Countess, I really couldn't _think_ of
preceding you!" at every doorway, till Daphne, as she noted the elevated
eyebrows and covert smiles of the others, felt too much shame for her
Sovereign for any thought of amusement.

However, the Queen showed more self-assertion in her treatment of the
Court Godmother, which was characterised by some _hauteur_.

"And now, I suppose, Mrs. Fogleplug, we have seen _all_ the Reception
Rooms. We shall probably have to entertain on rather a large scale, but
they appear to be fairly suitable. What I have _not_ yet seen is a room
where I could receive ordinary callers. I have always made a practice
since I was first married of being 'at Home' on the first and third
Fridays, and though circumstances have altered, I intend to continue
it."

The Fairy, though she was rather at a loss to understand either the
reason or the necessity for this, said that there was a chamber called
"The Queen's Bower" which would probably meet Her Majesty's
requirements, and led the way to it accordingly.

It was about sixty feet square, with a high vaulted roof of lapis-lazuli
set with large diamond stars; the walls were decorated with huge
frescoes representing legends, many of which Princess Ruby recognised as
familiar.

"This will do, Mrs. Fogleplug," pronounced the Queen. "At least it
can be _made_ to do, with a little re-arrangement. As it is, there
are none of the ordinary refinements, such as art-cushions,
cake-and-bread-and-butter stand, occasional tables, and little
silver knick-knacks, which a lady's boudoir of any pretensions to
elegance should have. Just the trifles that express the owner,
and--er--constitute Home. I must have all these provided before I can
use this as a sanctum. I should certainly have expected a Palace like
this to be furnished with more regard to comfort!"

"I should have expected a billiard-room or two," said Prince Clarence;
"but these Courtier chaps tell me they don't even know what billiards
are! Pretty sort of Palace this!"

"I think it's a perfectly lovely Palace!" Princess Ruby declared. "It
hasn't got a single piano in it anywhere! I know, because I've asked."

"I'm sorry to hear it, my dear," said her Mother, "because I
particularly wished Miss Heritage to get you on with your music; and, if
that is impossible, I shall have to consider whether I can keep her at
all."

"Oh, Mummy, you won't send her away? When you know I've never been good
with anybody before, and never _shall_ be, either!"

Queen Selina was quite alive to the advantages of retaining Daphne's
services.

"Well, Ruby," she said, "I shall allow Miss Heritage to stay on, as your
companion" (she had already seen her way to proposing a reduction of
salary), "and she can make herself generally useful to me as well."

Ruby went dancing back to Daphne. "You're not to be my governess any
more, Miss Heritage, dear," she announced, "because I shan't require one
now. But I've got Mummy to let you stay on as companion. Aren't you
glad?"

Daphne answered that she was--and she would certainly have been sorry to
leave Märchenland quite so soon.

"And now tell me, Mr. Chamberlain--Baron Troitz, I mean," the Queen was
saying. "What time do you dine here?"

"Whenever your Majesties please," was the reply.

"All the same to us," said the King affably. "No wish to put you _out_
at all."

"Then with your permission, Sire, the Banquet will be served an hour
hence in the Banqueting Hall."

"A banquet!" cried the Queen. "I would rather we dined quietly, without
any fuss, on our first night here."

"It is the night of your Majesties' Coronation," the Court Chamberlain
reminded her. "The Court would be deeply disappointed if so auspicious
an event were not celebrated in a befitting manner."

"Oh," said the Queen. "Then it will be full dress, I suppose--with
crowns?"

"I hope--not _crowns_," put in King Sidney, who had taken the earliest
opportunity of leaving his own in a corner. "A crown is such an
uncomfortable thing to eat in. At least mine is."

The Court Chamberlain gave it as his decision that crowns should
certainly be worn--at least through the earlier courses of the meal.

"All you've got to do, Guv'nor," said Clarence, "is to keep yours from
splashing into the soup. A bit of elastic round your chin would do that
all right."

"And I presume," said the Queen, "we shall wear these robes we have
on?... Oh, we shall find a change of costume upstairs? Then, as there is
not too much time for dressing, I should like to see my room at once,
Mrs. Fogleplug."

"Sidney," she panted a little later as, escorted by the Marshal and
Baron, and followed by the Court Godmother and the ladies and
lords-in-waiting, they were making the ascent of the grand staircase,
"one of the _first_ things we must do here is to put in a lift. I really
can't be expected to climb all these stairs several times a day!"

"They do take it out of one, my dear," he admitted. "And a lift would
certainly be a great improvement."

At the head of the staircase was a long tapestry-hung gallery in which
were the doors opening into the suites of rooms prepared for Royalty.

Queen Selina, on reaching hers, could not bring herself to allow her
ladies of the Bedchamber to assist at her toilet. "So _very_ kind of
you, Princess, and you, too, my dear Baroness," she protested, "but I
couldn't _think_ of troubling you--I couldn't indeed! I should feel
quite ashamed to let you! I can manage perfectly well by myself--that
is, Miss Heritage will come in after she has attended to Princess Ruby,
and do all I require, and then she can go on and help _you_, Edna."

"Thank you, Mother," said Edna, "but I should prefer having some one who
is more accustomed to dressing hair."

After putting Ruby into a robe of golden tissue and silken stockings and
satin shoes, which, being quite as splendid as those she had just laid
aside, afforded the child intense satisfaction, Daphne went to Queen
Selina's Tiring Chamber--a spacious apartment with hangings of strange
colours embroidered with Royal emblems. It was separated by a curtained
arch, through which a glimpse could be caught of the Royal Bedchamber,
with the colossal and gorgeously canopied State bed.

She found the Queen still in an early stage of her toilette and in a
highly fractious state of mind.

"I expected you to be here before this, Miss Heritage," she said. "I've
been waiting all this time for you to fasten me up the back, which I
couldn't possibly ask any of my Court ladies to do.... I'm sure _I_
don't know what goes on next!... Oh, do you think the--er--stomacher
_before_ the ruff?... Very well.... It's impossible to judge the effect
in such a wretched light" (the chamber, it should be said, was
illuminated by a number of perfumed flambeaux stuck in elaborately
wrought silver sconces). "Even at 'Inglegarth' I had a pair of electric
lights over my dressing-table! And how on earth any Queen can be
expected to dress at a shabby tarnished old cheval-glass like this is
more than _I_ can conceive!"

Upon which a thin but silvery voice immediately responded:

    "As dimly can I understand
    How _you_ are Queen of Märchenland!"

"Upon my word, Miss Heritage!" exclaimed Queen Selina, with an angry
flush on her oatmeal-hued cheeks, "I am surprised at such
impertinence--from _you_!"

"It--it wasn't me, Ma'am," said Daphne, with an heroic effort to keep
her countenance.

"As it was certainly not myself, and you are the only other person in
the room, Miss Heritage, your denial is impudent as well as useless!"

Daphne could only point speechlessly to the mirror.

"Really, Miss Heritage! This goes beyond all--what _next_!"

    "Reflected here there should have been
    A younger and far fairer Queen."

continued the voice in a doggerel as devoid of polish as the mirror
itself.

"It _does_ appear to come from--but whoever heard of a looking-glass
talking?" said the mystified Queen.

"Little Snow-white's Stepmother had a mirror that answered her, Ma'am,"
said Daphne, "and she was a queen in Märchenland, I believe. Perhaps
this is the very one!"

It would, no doubt, have proceeded to make some even more unflattering
comments if Daphne had not, with much presence of mind, turned its face
to the wall. How she knew that this would silence it she could not have
said herself. But it certainly did.

"I have no reason for believing that any such person as Little
Snow-white ever existed," said Queen Selina; "but whoever that glass
belonged to, I will not have it here. I would have it smashed, if it
wasn't unlucky. But it must be removed to the attics before I come up
here to undress. Really, I never knew such a country as this is! Boar's
heads trying to speak at luncheon, and mirrors making personal remarks,
and everything so strange and unnatural! But you take it all as a matter
of course, Miss Heritage; nothing seems to surprise _you_."

"I think, Ma'am," said Daphne, "because I've always known that, if I
ever _did_ get to Märchenland, it would be very much like this."

"Considering that you had no better means of knowing what it would be
like than I had myself," replied the Queen, "I can only ascribe that to
affectation.... Surely there must be more of the Crown jewellery than I
have been given as yet?... Yes, there _may_ be something in that
chest.... Good gracious me! _What_ diamonds! I don't think the dear
Duchess of Gleneagles herself can have anything to approach them!...
Yes, you can put me on a _rivière_, and two of the biggest ropes of
pearls.... It won't do to go down looking dowdy. Dear me," she added, as
she took up the pendant she had bought from Daphne twenty-four hours
before, "to think of my giving so much money for this paltry thing! If I
had known then what I do now, I should never have--but, of course, I
don't mean that I should think of going back on it."

"I'm afraid, Ma'am," said Daphne, "I couldn't pay it back now; I sent
the cheque last night."

"I am quite content to bear the loss, Miss Heritage. And, by the way,
you may not be aware of it, but it is hardly correct or usual, in
speaking to me, to call me 'Ma'am.'"

"I've always understood, Ma'am," said Daphne, "that our own Queen--in
England, I mean----"

"How the Queen of England may allow herself to be addressed is entirely
her own affair," said Queen Selina handsomely; "I have nothing whatever
to do with _that_. But I am Queen of Märchenland, Miss Heritage, and I
shall be obliged by your addressing me as 'Your Majesty' on _all_
occasions."

"Certainly, your Majesty," said Daphne, executing a profound curtsey
with a little smile that she was quite unable to repress. "I assure your
Majesty that your Majesty may rely on my addressing your Majesty as
'Your Majesty' for the future, your Majesty."

"That is better, Miss Heritage, much better--a little overdone, but
still--And now," she added, "you had better go and see if Princess Edna
wants any assistance. You need not trouble to change your own dress, as,
of course, you will not sit down to dinner with us."

"She's too priceless!" thought Daphne, when she was outside on the
gallery, and could indulge her sense of humour in safety. "Still, I
don't think I _could_ stand her very long if it weren't for Ruby!"

"I say, Mater," the Crown Prince called out a few minutes afterwards
outside his Mother's door, "how much longer are you and the Guv'nor
going to be? All night?"

"You can come in, Clarence," she said. "How soon your Father will be
ready, I can't say. I finished _my_ dressing hours ago."

King Sidney, following her example, had declined the good offices of his
gentlemen, and there were sounds from his dressing-room on the farther
side of the Bedchamber which indicated that he was in some difficulties
in consequence.

"My aunt!" exclaimed Clarence as he saw his Mother fully arrayed.
"You've got 'em all on _this_ time, Mater, and no mistake! So've you,
Guv'nor," he added, as King Sidney joined them with rather a sheepish
air. "Only--are you sure you've got yours on _right_? I mean to
say--that ruff looks a bit cock-eyed."

"It's given me more trouble than any white tie, my boy--but it must do
as it is."

"Ah, I got that bristly-haired chap--what's his name--Hansmeinigel--to
put on mine for me. Didn't any of yours give you a hand?"

"They offered to--most kindly," said King Sidney, "but--well, I didn't
altogether relish letting them dress me."

"They'd have made a jolly sight neater job of it than you have--keep
still a jiff till I've tucked this tape in. There--that's more like it.
And I say, you and the Mater had better hurry--you're keeping the whole
Court waiting for you!"

"Why didn't you tell us before?" said the Queen in a violent flurry.
"Where--where _are_ the Court?"

"All drawn up in the Hall at the foot of the big staircase. They can't
make a move till you come down, and lead the way in to dinner, you
know!"

"I--I'd rather not descend all those steps in public," objected the
King. "Confoundedly slippery. Er--couldn't we go by the backstairs, my
love?"

"And find ourselves in our own kitchen!" said the Queen. "Certainly not,
Sidney! The grand staircase is the only dignified way down, and you had
better give me your arm at once."

"Very well, my dear, very well. But I'm pretty sure I shall slip."

"You must _not_ slip, Sidney! Neither of us must slip. If we did, it
would produce a very bad impression. Still, it will be safer if we go
down one by one, and hold on to the banisters."

"No, I say," cried the Crown Prince, "you can't do that--might as well
crawl down on all fours! Buck up, both of you. Try and throw a little
swank into it!"

Their Majesties accomplished the descent amidst the congratulatory blare
of the silver trumpets without actual mishap. But there was nothing in
the bearing of either Sovereign that could justly be described by the
term "swank," and indeed, if any fault could be found, it would have
been in quite the opposite direction.

Of the banquet itself little need be said here. The numerous courses
were appetising and admirably served, while, to the Queen's relief, none
of the dishes showed any desire to take part in the conversation.

The members of the Court did more than look on this time, being
entertained, with other guests, amongst whom were the President and
Council, at cross tables below the principal one on the dais.

Clarence, seated with his family, the Ex-Regent, and the Court Godmother
at the high table, wished more than once that he could have sat by
Daphne, whom he could see at no great distance. He noted her perfect
ease, and the pretty graciousness with which she received the attentions
which her neighbours seemed only too anxious to press upon her.

"Anyone would think she'd lived with swells all her life," he thought.
"She may have, for anything I know!" But, of course, even if she had,
the fact did not make her his equal now.

Towards the close of the feast King Sidney, who had long since disposed
of his crown underneath his chair, considered that the occasion demanded
a speech. His effort might have been a greater success if he had
abstained from jocularity, which was not by any means his _forte_. It is
possible that a far happier sample of British humour would have failed
to set Märchenland tables in a roar, but his hearers were either unaware
that he intended to be humorous, or sensible that his purpose had not
been achieved, for they listened in puzzled but depressed silence, while
the effect of his facetiousness on Daphne was to render her hot and cold
by turns.

The banquet over, the Court Chamberlain deferentially informed the Royal
Party that they were expected to lead the procession to the Ball Room.

Clarence, who had unfortunately come away from "Inglegarth" without his
cigarette-case, was longing to smoke, and hung behind for that purpose.
But on applying to the Marshal, he was told that only common soldiers
ever smoked in Märchenland. With some trouble a highly flavoured pipe, a
tinder-box, and a pouch containing a dried herb that appeared to be the
local substitute for tobacco were procured for him. However, a very
short experience convinced him that duty required him to put in an
appearance at the State Ball.

The Ball Room was a long, lofty hall, lit by thousands of candles set in
great golden hoops; the light they gave being multiplied almost to
infinity by the fact that the walls and ceiling were lined with
elaborately engraved looking-glass, which, fortunately perhaps for the
Queen, was dumb. When he entered, the musicians were already fiddling,
piping, and fluting in a gallery high up at one end facing a raised
platform, where his father and mother, looking extremely hot and
uncomfortable, were seated on gorgeous chairs. A stately measure was
being performed, which might have been a _gavotte_ or minuet or _pavane_
for anything he could say; all he knew was that the figures were quite
unfamiliar to him.

But Daphne seemed to have learnt them--or had they come to her by
instinct?--for she was dancing in one of the sets. He watched her
lissome form as she moved through the intricate evolutions till he began
to envy the Count von Daumerlingstamm, her elegant but undersized
partner. However, he flattered himself that he would have no difficulty
in cutting out little Daumerlingstamm.

It seemed to him that that dance would never be over, but the moment it
was, he made his way to Daphne with an air that showed he was fully
aware of the distinction he was conferring. "Enjoying yourself, Miss
Heritage?" he said. "Don't know what that last dance was--but not much
'vim' about it, if you ask _me_. Tell you what--I'll get those fiddler
fellows up there to play something a bit livelier, and you and I'll
show this crowd a two-step, what?"

"This is a great honour, your Royal Highness," said Daphne, after
sinking demurely in the regulation curtsey. "But I must not accept it
until I have her Majesty's permission." ("Which I'm quite sure she won't
give!" she thought to herself with much satisfaction.)

"Oh, I say--what rot! The Mater won't mind! And if she does----!"

"It would be very disagreeable for me, your Royal Highness!"

"Oh, well," he said, "I'll go and ask her."

As Daphne had anticipated, Queen Selina's refusal was most emphatic.
"You ought to know, Clarence, that it's utterly out of the question!"
she said. "And I'm surprised at Miss Heritage having the presumption to
expect it."

"She didn't, Mater. She said I'd better ask you first."

"Then it seems she has a better sense of her position than you have of
yours, Clarence. I'm told you have been seen walking about with a
disgusting pipe in your mouth, and that several people were remarking on
it. Now you are actually proposing to make yourself conspicuous by
dancing at a State Ball with your sister's companion! I have always
credited you with being a man of the world--but if _this_ is the way you
are going on----!"

He felt the sting of so unwonted a rebuke. "I daresay you're right,
Mater," he acknowledged. "I'll be more careful after this."

"I hope you will, I'm sure. As Crown Prince you mustn't _think_ of any
partner under the rank of Baroness. Ask one of the Princesses first, or
you'll give _more_ offence."

"Right-oh!" was all he said, and, feeling that it would be awkward to
make any explanation or excuses to Daphne, he solved the difficulty by
avoiding her for the rest of the evening.

Princess Goldernenfingerleinigen, a prepossessing but not very
forthcoming damsel, enjoyed the distinction of being commanded by the
Crown Prince as his first partner.

He had had no experience in conversing with Princesses, and she did not
exert herself either to put him more at his ease or prevent him from
losing himself frequently in the mazes of the dance. Once or twice he
was oppressed by a painful suspicion that he had seen her making a
little grimace of self-pity at the Countess Gänsehirtin. But elaborately
engraved mirrors are not very trustworthy, and he might have been
mistaken. Still, he was thankful when the dance, in which he was
conscious of having done himself so little credit, came to an end.

"Edna, old girl," he remarked subsequently to the Princess Royal, "I
call this a rotten ball. Can't stick dancing with any more of these
Princesses!"

Princess Edna, it appeared, had been no more favourably impressed by the
Courtiers.

"They've simply _no_ conversation," she complained, "and no ideas about
any serious subjects!"

"No, _I_'ve noticed that," he said; "and they think they're the only
people who can dance! I tell you what--you and I'll show 'em how we do
the Tango. That'll make 'em open their eyes!"

It did. As has already been said, both he and Edna, as persons who could
not afford to be out of the movement, had taken lessons that winter in
the recent importation from dubious Argentine dancing-saloons. They
danced it now with conscientious care, Prince Clarence exhibiting as
much _abandon_ as a man could who was dancing with his sister.

But the Court were not sufficiently enlightened to appreciate the
performance. They evidently considered it not only uncouth and
undignified, but more than a little improper, and their general attitude
conveyed that the couple were committing one of those temporary
indiscretions which it was not only etiquette but charity to pass over
in silence.

"Capital!" said King Sidney, clapping his hands at the conclusion.
"Uncommonly well they dance together, eh, my dear--never seen them do it
before."

"And you will never see them do it again, Sidney," replied the Queen;
"for I'm much mistaken if they haven't broken up the Ball!"

She was not very far wrong, for although, after some minutes of
awestruck silence, dancing was resumed, it was carried on with a
restraint and gloom that soon decided the Royal Family to retire from
the Ball Room.

The Queen forbore from expressing her sentiments just then either to her
son or daughter, with the latter of whom, indeed, she seldom, if ever,
ventured to find fault. But she felt that her first evening in the
Palace had not been a brilliant success.

This feeling impelled her to be more ingratiating than ever to her
ladies of the Bedchamber, whose services in disrobing her she was
compelled to accept, though under protest.

"So _much_ obliged!" she said, as they finally withdrew with glacial
ceremony. "Quite ashamed to have troubled you, really! Good-night, dear
Princess, _good_-night. We shall breakfast at 8.30. But _en famille_,
you know--quite _en famille_--so don't _dream_ of coming down!"

"I hope, Sidney," she began later, as he joined her in the Royal
Bedchamber, "I hope you have treated the gentlemen who undressed you
with proper consideration. It is _so_ important.... Good gracious!
What's that you've got on? A night-cap?"

"Those--er--noblemen seemed to consider it the correct thing, my love,
and they've put me on this night-gown, too."

"I see they have. Embroidered all over with impossible animals. You look
a perfect _sight_ in it!"

"I'm told they're--er--hippogriffs, my dear, the--ah--Royal Crest or
emblem or something. I should have much preferred pyjamas myself. But it
seems they are not procurable here."

"Everything in this country is in a disgracefully backward state!"
declared the Queen; "and I can see I shall have hard work to bring it up
to my ideas of what is proper. I shall _begin_ by putting that old Mrs.
Fogleplug in her proper place."

"I should be careful, my dear," advised King Sidney. "After all, you
know, she's by way of being a Fairy."

"So she _says_! But, Fairy or no Fairy, she's much too familiar. And if
she cannot conform to my rules, she will have to go, that's all."

"Well, my dear, I daresay when you put it to her like that," began the
King, who had by this time succeeded in clambering into the immense bed,
and whose head was already buried in an enormous pillow. "As I was
saying," he continued hazily, "put it to her in--in that way,
and--and--no doubt ... very probably ... no reason to suppose ...
any...." But here his voice sank into an unintelligible murmur, until it
rose presently into his first, but not by any means last, snore in the
character of monarch.




CHAPTER VI

CARES OF STATE


Queen Selina was as good as her word. The first thing after breakfast
the next morning she retired to her Bower, and sent a summons to the
Court Godmother, desiring her immediate attendance. King Sidney was
engaged in interviewing the Lord Treasurer on the subject of the Royal
revenue. The Crown Prince and Princess Edna were strolling on the
terrace, and Daphne had discovered the board and pieces of a game
something between Chess and Halma, the rules of which she and Princess
Ruby were learning under the instruction of the Countess von
Haulemännerschen. So that the Queen, having taken care not to disturb
any of her ladies-in-waiting, could count upon being able to deal
faithfully with the obnoxious old Fairy without fear of interruption.

"Well, my dear," began the latter, as soon as she appeared, "I hope you
passed a comfortable night?"

"I don't know when I passed a _more_ uncomfortable one, Mrs. Fogleplug.
That is _one_ of the things I wished to speak to you about. After being
accustomed as I have to a spring mattress, all those great feather beds
made it simply impossible to get a wink of sleep!"

"That," said the Fairy, "is one of the penalties of being of the blood
Royal. An ancestress of yours slept in that very bed, my dear, ages ago,
before even _I_ can remember--or I should rather say she _tried_ to
sleep, but could not, owing to a pea that had somehow got under the
lowest feather-bed of all. It was certainly very careless if the pea has
never been removed."

"It would also show, Mrs. Fogleplug, that during all those ages the bed
can never have been properly aired. I should have thought it would have
been _your_ business to see to that."

"Then you would be entirely mistaken, my dear, for it is not. And, as I
notice that you find a difficulty in pronouncing my name correctly, I
may suggest that it would be simpler in future to call me by my proper
title, which is, 'High Court Godmother,' or 'Court Godmother,' if you
prefer it."

"And while we are on the subject of titles," said Queen Selina, "_I_ may
mention that it is customary to address a Queen as 'Your Majesty,' and
not as 'my dear.'"

"It has always been my habit with Sovereigns, and I have never heard it
objected to till now."

"Well, _I_ object to it. But--and this is what I sent for you
about--there are other matters I object to even more. I intend to
regulate my household on a thoroughly modern and English system, and I
cannot have any member of it careering about in the air in outlandish
cars drawn by birds. If you _must_ have a conveyance you must be content
with a brougham or a victoria, for I shall insist on your putting down
both those bird-cars."

"You seem to forget that, but for one of them, you would never have come
into your Kingdom!"

"That may or may not be. At any rate there is no further necessity for
them, and--well, it just comes to this, Madam, either they go or you
do."

The old Fairy's eyes smouldered with anger, and her nut-cracker mouth
and chin champed for a few seconds before she replied.

"I have occupied rooms in this Palace--when not at the Palace of
Clairdelune--for over a century and a half, and I have no intention of
giving them up. I shall also continue to use the vehicles which I find
most convenient."

"Oh?" said the Queen, "will you? We shall _see_ about that!"

"We shall," the Court Godmother retorted. "I don't think you quite
realise yet whom you have to deal with. I may be getting on in years,
but both here and at Clairdelune I am accustomed to being treated with
more deference and respect than you seem disposed to pay me. You see,
they know that, although I have not used the full powers I possess as a
Fairy for many years past, I have not lost them altogether. I might see
fit to employ them once more--on any person who was rash enough to incur
my displeasure. And ingratitude and pride are the failings which I
always made it my particular business to correct. You would find it more
to your advantage to be on good terms with me." There was no mistaking
the veiled threat, and Queen Selina no longer doubted the Fairy's
abilities to carry it out. She was worsted, and her only course was to
give in gracefully.

"My _dear_ Court Godmother!" she cried, "you _quite_ misunderstood me!
I'd no wish to interfere with any of your habits--not in the very
slightest degree. All I _meant_ was that, perhaps, at your age, a more
ordinary carriage than your present ones might be--er--_safer_, you
know!"

"I am quite capable of looking after my own safety, thank you. But,
though you are our beloved Prince's daughter, you have been brought up
in ignorance of the ways of this country, so I am the more willing to
overlook treatment to which I feel sure I shall not have to draw your
attention again. And now, as we quite understand one another, my dear,
we will say no more about it. By the way, I hear you haven't sent for
any of your ladies-in-waiting this morning. How is that?"

"I--I didn't quite like to, Court Godmother. We're--well, hardly
intimate as yet. They are so reserved and distant--especially that
Princess Rapunzelhauser. But, of course, she comes of a very high
family."

"She is descended from the famous Rapunzel, whose story is no doubt
familiar to you.... No? Well, her father was a poor cottager who was
caught by an old witch stealing radishes from her garden. She let him
off on condition that he gave up to her the child his wife was
expecting. Rapunzel was the child, and in due time was claimed by the
witch, who shut her up in a lofty tower. However, she had the most
wonderful hair, so long that when she let it down from the top window it
touched the ground, and so thick that the Prince whom she subsequently
married was able to climb up by it, and make love to her."

"Now you mention it, I have some faint recollection--and so Princess
Rapunzelhauser is descended from _her_! Well, that would account
for--but Princess Goldenenfinger--something, now, she _does_ look as if
she had _some_ good blood in _her_ veins."

"The best in Märchenland. An ancestor of hers was King of one of the
smaller Kingdoms into which the country was divided in those days. One
day when out hunting he found a woodcutter's daughter living all alone
in a hollow tree, and fell violently in love with her."

"A _woodcutter's_ daughter? Dear me! Then, of course, marriage was out
of the question."

"Not at all! they were married and had children. Unfortunately there was
an estrangement between the King and Queen later as she was accused of
having murdered them, and condemned to be burnt to death."

"It only shows what a mistake it is to marry beneath one."

"_This_ marriage ended happily. It was discovered, just in time, that
the children were alive after all."

"Still," said the Queen, "it is _not_ a pleasant thing to have happened
in _any_ family. I should like to hear something about the pedigrees of
my other ladies-in-waiting."

The Court Godmother was quite ready to give her all the information she
could. Princess Flachspinnenlosburg, it appeared, traced her descent
from the incorrigibly lazy daughter of a poor and not over scrupulous
mother; Baroness Belohnte von Haulemännerschen from similarly humble
folk, whose daughter was servant of all work to seven dwarfs, and
afterwards married the King of one of the petty states before mentioned;
Baroness von Bauerngrosstochterheimer's ancestor was a peasant; Countess
Gänsehirten am Brunnen's ancestress a goose-girl--and so on through the
entire list. Queen Selina then became curious as to the origin of the
gentlemen of her Court, and found that many of their forbears were
sullied by the taint of Trade. The founders of both Prince Tapfer von
Schneiderleinberg's and Count Daumerlingenstamm's houses were tailors;
Baron von Bohnenranken derived his title from a speculator who, after a
remarkably unsuccessful venture in cattle, had made a colossal coup in
beans. As for Prince Hansmeinigel, his pretensions to high descent were
even more questionable--at least, if it was actually the fact, as the
Fairy stated, that the first of his progenitors was not only the son of
a poor father, but also suffered the additional social disadvantage of
being a hedgehog from the waist upwards; added to which he seemed to
have cherished an eccentric passion for playing the bagpipes while
riding on a cock. It is true that, after his marriage with a Princess,
he became a less impossible member of Society--still, as the Queen very
rightly felt, there are some things which can never be altogether lived
down.

"I'm much obliged to you for telling me all this, Court Godmother," she
said, at the end; "_most_ interesting, I'm sure. And so useful to know
who everybody really _is_!"

It was something of a disillusion to find that her Court was so largely
composed of _parvenus_, but, on the other hand, it enabled her to face
her ladies-in-waiting in future without any distressing sense of
inferiority.

She was on the point of summoning them when the King suddenly burst into
her bower. "Selina, my love," he began, with suppressed excitement, "if
you'll tell this good woman to go, I've something to say to you."

"Oblige me, Sidney," replied the Queen, "by not alluding to the High
Court Godmother again as a good woman; we may consider ourselves very
fortunate that she is doing us the honour of residing under our roof,
and you will be good enough to show her proper respect."

"Oh, sorry, I'm sure; I thought you said--but if _that's_ how it is, I
apologise for interrupting you."

"I have said all I have to say," said the Court Godmother, "so there is
no need for me to remain any longer." And with that she hobbled out of
the room.

"I suppose you got your way about those--ah--bird-chariots, my dear?" he
asked, "as you don't seem to have sacked her!"

"She seemed so upset at the idea of giving them up that I said she might
keep them. I shall certainly not 'sack' her, as you call it. Now I've
come to know her better, I find she is a good, faithful old soul who is
much too useful to part with, and you must be very careful to be civil
to her in future. What was it you wanted to say to me?"

"The Lord Treasurer and I have been going into our private resources,"
he said. "I thought perhaps you might like to come with me to my
Counting-house and--and have a look at 'em, my dear."

She was only too eager to do so. "Tell me, Sidney," she gasped, as they
hurried through various corridors to the wing in which the King's
Counting-house was situated. "Shall we--shall we have enough to live on
decently?"

"I don't know what _you_ will think," he replied, with an irrepressible
chuckle, "but I should call it affluence myself--positive affluence, my
love!"

They arrived at a heavily clamped door, where the Marshal, the
Treasurer, and Prince Clarence and Princess Edna were waiting for them.
"Two steps down," said King Sidney after unlocking the door.

"And here we _are_!" he cried triumphantly, as they entered.

The Counting-house was a huge barrel-roofed chamber lighted from windows
protected by elaborate scroll-work bars. Upon shelves all round the
walls, and piled in heaps on the floor, were sacks, "Every blessed one,"
explained the King, "chock full of gold ducats! What do you think of
_that_, eh, my love?"

"I think, Sidney," she replied, "that _I_ am the person who should have
the key."

"There's one for each of us," he said. "Here's yours. And on that table
there you'll find purses laid out, and a little gold shovel to fill them
with. I've filled mine. Whenever our funds are running low, you see,
we've only to come down here and help ourselves."

"Good biz!" said the Crown Prince, beginning to fill one of the purses.
"I shall fill my pockets as well--save another journey, what?"

"Some of us do not possess pockets, Clarence," said his mother. "And I
must make it a rule that no one is to take out more than a purseful at a
time, and only after satisfying me that the money is required for some
legitimate purpose."

"I don't think such precautions are at all necessary, my dear," said
King Sidney. "Marshal Federhelm seems to have put by a good deal while
he was Regent. And besides, there's plenty more where _this_ comes from,
you know!"

"And where _does_ it come from?" inquired the Queen.

"Why, the Treasurer tells me, we've a mine of our own in
the Golden Mountains a few miles from here--a mine that is
practically--ah--inexhaustible. I rather thought of driving over
to see it some day."

"Let's all go!" said the Crown Prince. "Why not this afternoon? It'll be
something to do!"

Queen Selina was pleased to approve the suggestion. "We certainly ought
to show that we are interested in industrial concerns," she said. "All
the _best_ Sovereigns do. I can't help wishing, though, that poor dear
Papa could have come with us. He knew so much about gold mines."

"Just as well for us he can't," said Clarence, "because _he'd_ be the
Boss, then! I say, I've got an idea. Why not take one of those sacks in
the coach with us and chuck money out of the window to the crowd, what?"

"Look too much as if we were out for a beanfeast, my boy," objected his
father.

"And what's the matter with a beanfeast? Believe me, it will make us
jolly popular and be a lot better fun than just bowing to the
blighters."

"And far less fatiguing," said Edna.

"There's something in what Clarence says," said the Queen. "It _would_
increase our popularity--and that is so important. Of course we
shouldn't make a _practice_ of it, but we can quite afford it, just for
once--what do you think, Mr. Marshal?"

The Marshal thought it was an excellent notion.

The Golden Mountains were not much more than a couple of leagues from
Eswareinmal, and the roads being tolerably good, a lighter vehicle than
the State Coach and six sturdy horses accomplished the journey in very
good time. In the streets they passed through and at various villages
along the valley, crowds had collected, and the enthusiasm with which
they scrambled for the coins that were showered from the carriage
windows proved how fully they appreciated the benefits of an established
Monarchy.

"Don't throw any more now, children," counselled Queen Selina as they
neared the mine. "We must keep some for the dear miners. Sidney, be sure
to ask some questions about the machinery, and whether they're all happy
and comfortable. And do it tactfully, because I've always heard miners
are such a very independent and intelligent class."

Perhaps even so short a residence in Märchenland as theirs might have
prepared the Royal party for the unusual. But it was an undeniable shock
to them all to find, on arrival at the mine, not only that the method of
working was primitive to the last degree, but that it was entirely
conducted by diminutive beings who were unmistakable Yellow Gnomes. The
interior of the mine resounded with the blows of pickaxes, but the
inevitable trumpeters had no sooner announced that the Sovereigns had
left their coach than all work was suspended. The miners swarmed up from
their tunnellings, literally tumbling over one another in their haste to
behold the countenances of Royalty.

"They seem--ah--a remarkable lively lot," observed King Sidney as some
of the Gnomes turned somersaults and Catherine wheels around their
visitors, while the more retiring stood unassumingly in the background
on their heads. "A bit undersized, and, judging from their complexions,
I should say the work had affected their livers. But it _may_ only be
due to the gold-dust."

"They don't seem to realise a bit who we _are_!" complained Queen
Selina. "Sidney, _did_ you see that? One of the little wretches has
just taken a flying leap over my very head!"

The Baron, who had followed in another coach, explained that these
demonstrations were merely intended to express loyal delight.

"Oh, if you _say_ so, Baron," she said. "But anyone might easily mistake
it for impertinence. If it was not hopeless to expect an intelligent
answer from people who seem unable to stay right side up for a single
moment, I should like to know what wages they receive and what they live
on."

The Court Chamberlain informed her that the Gnomes got no wages and
required little in the way of food, their favourite diet, he believed,
being earth.

"Revolting!" was her comment. "No wonder they look so unwell! Still,
their living cannot cost much, so I should think, Sidney, if we gave
the--er--foreman a gold piece to be divided amongst them, that would be
amply sufficient."

King Sidney thereupon presented a ducat to the most important-looking
Gnome, who immediately let it drop indifferently.

"Wonder why he did that?" said the King. "Doesn't he think it's enough?"

"Knows too much about how it's made, I expect," said Clarence. "Like the
chap at the Marmalade factory."

"Well, it's a pity to waste it," said his father, picking up the coin.
"I should like to see them at work before we go."

His wish having been conveyed to the Head Gnome, the whole band rushed,
yelping and screeching, back into the galleries, seized their picks, and
began hacking at the gold which gleamed in veins of incredible richness
through the rocky walls and roof of the caves. But perhaps their efforts
would have been more effective if they had not been quite so apt to get
in one another's way.

The visitors then inspected the furnace where the ore was melted, and
the Mint where it was stamped into big fat coins. These were put up in
sacks for transmission to the Royal Treasury, but, as a fresh batch had
been delivered only recently, the supply in hand at the Mint was not
very large just then.

"I _did_ like those Gnomes!" said Princess Ruby on the way home. "Didn't
_you_, Mummy?"

"I should have liked them better, my dear, if they had been more like
fellow-Christians. Sidney, I shall _insist_ on their wearing some
civilised costume."

"By all means, my love, if we continue to employ them. But I rather
think it would be better to get rid of them altogether."

"Get _rid_ of them, Sidney? What in the world _for_?"

"Well, you see, my dear, at the last General Election I took a somewhat
prominent part in denouncing the Conservatives for employing Chinese
labour in the South African mines. It would be very awkward if people at
Gablehurst found out that our entire income was derived
from--er--'Yellow Slavery.'"

"Stuff and nonsense, Sidney! Who do you suppose is likely to _tell_
them?"

"You never know how things get about," he said uneasily. "And, as a
consistent Radical, it--it goes against my conscience."

"Conscience, indeed! My dear good Sidney, if you go and get rid of those
Gnomes, who seem perfectly happy and contented, there'll be no one to
dig the gold!"

"We could hire full-grown white labourers, my dear. Of course at a
living wage, but, as they would work more systematically, they would
obtain a far larger output, so we should make a handsome profit by the
change."

"Ah, when you put it like _that_, Sidney, it makes all the difference. I
could see for myself that those hideous little horrors weren't taking
their work seriously."

"There's to be a State Council to-morrow morning," said the King. "It
would be a good opportunity to inform them that we do not intend to
countenance slavery any longer."

"That ought to have an excellent effect," Queen Selina replied. "I
shouldn't wonder if it made us more popular than ever.... Why, we're
back in the city already!... How delighted the dear people seem to see
us!... Yes, Children, you can empty the sack. The love of one's subjects
is well worth the money--and it's not as if we were ever likely to miss
it!"

The next morning after breakfast the King and Queen held their first
State Council, Prince Clarence, of whose business capacity both his
parents had a great opinion, being given a seat at the board. There
were, it appeared, various measures on the _agenda_ which, as the
President explained, were of the highest political importance, being
concerned with the settlement of such matters as the precise number of
cherries that were to be strung on a stick and sold for a groschen at
old women's fruit-stalls; the dimensions of the piece of jam that a
huckster should be permitted to put in his porridge; whether the
watchmen's horns really needed new mouthpieces, and, if so, whether
these should be of ivory or bone. Questions which had to be given the
fullest consideration and debated at prodigious length before the
Sovereigns could be asked to affix their signatures and seals to the
decrees.

Clarence fidgeted with undisguised impatience, and King Sidney was more
than once under the necessity of raising the golden hand at the end of
his sceptre to his lips in order to conceal an irrepressible yawn. But
at last the state business was disposed of, and the King was able to
introduce his own. It was clear from the vehement wagging of the
Councillors' white beards while he was announcing the Royal intention to
emancipate all Gnomes at present in the Gold mine, that they regarded
the new departure with no great favour. The President himself, although
he admitted that it concerned the Sovereigns more closely than any other
person, pointed out certain objections which he begged their Majesties
to ponder. And Councillor after Councillor rose and protested against
the scheme with the utmost solemnity and prolixity.

Queen Selina, who was now far more eager than the King to have the mine
reorganised on a more paying principle, would have answered the critics
herself, if Clarence had not induced her to leave the reply in his
hands.

"Well," he said, rising, "have you all done? No other gentleman wish to
hear himself talk?... All right then. Now I'll have _my_ little say. Of
course, what the venerable old Father Christmas in the chair told you
was perfectly correct. If we choose to set these little beggars free,
it's no business of anybody but ourselves. The Guv'nor--that is to say,
his Majesty--was merely _telling_ you about it--not asking what you
thought about it. Sorry if you don't approve, but we shall get over it
in time. And really, your objections, if you won't mind my saying so,
are absolutely footling. All they amount to is--because Gold Mines here
always _have_ been worked by gangs of Yellow Gnomes, therefore they must
be for all time. Now that's just the kind of fine old crusted pig-headed
Conservativism that's kept this the stick-in-the-mud Country it is! Look
at the sort of business you've been wasting our time in jawing about
to-day--why, in the country We came from, a Rural District Council would
have settled it all in five minutes if they thought it worth bothering
about at all. Street lanterns and watchmen's horns and old women's
sweet-stalls indeed! If you could only walk through--I won't say one of
our Cities, that might be too much of a shock for you--but through an
ordinary suburb such as we lived in, and saw how things were done
_there_, it would open your eyes a bit, I can tell you! You've been
marking time all these centuries while other Kingdoms have been making
progress. I'll tell you about some of the things we've learnt to do and
use, just as an ordinary matter of course--and you haven't so much as
heard of."

Here he gave them a vivid description of the chief inventions and
discoveries of the last eighty years, from the steam-engine to the
aeroplane, which latter, he declared, put their sixty-stork-power car
completely in the shade.

"If it is the fact," said the President, "that the inhabitants of your
Royal Highness's Country can work such marvels, you must be even
mightier magicians than were they whom our late King so wisely
suppressed."

"You're wrong there, old bird!" said Clarence cheerfully; "no Magic
about it whatever. All done by brains and enterprise, but--and this is
what I am trying to knock into your heads--if we'd been governed by a
set of stuffy old fossils like yourselves--if you'll allow me the
expression--we should never have got a blessed thing so much as
started!"

Many, if not most of the Council were sceptical as to the possibility of
such inventions as Clarence had described, but the good old Baron
assured them that, even during the short time he was in England, and
although it was night, he had witnessed many of them with his own eyes,
thanks to the powerful illuminants which made darkness almost as light
as day. He exhorted his hearers to count themselves fortunate in having
gained Sovereigns who possessed such wondrous powers, since their
faithful subjects would assuredly now enjoy the benefits of them.

"Aye," said the ex-Regent--though possibly not in such good faith as the
Baron. "We shall indeed have reason to congratulate ourselves if his
Royal Highness will graciously teach us how to construct one of these
fire-and-smoke-breathing engines that draw a line of waggons along roads
of iron, or even a mast that will send messages through a thousand
leagues of air."

"You don't want _much_, do you, dear old boy?" said Clarence. "You don't
suppose I can show you how to build a railway train when you haven't got
any of the bally materials or appliances, do you?"

"Your Royal Highness has but to name them, and they shall be procured."

"They're not to be got here," replied Clarence. "If I tried to tell you
what they were, you wouldn't be any the wiser!" He spoke nothing but the
truth, for he had but the sketchiest acquaintance with the composition
of any kind of machinery.

"Perhaps His Majesty," suggested the Marshal, who had long ago taken
King Sidney's measure, "is better able to instruct us in these mighty
secrets?"

"H'm, well, to tell you the truth," confessed the King, "although I've
been in the habit of using railways, motors, electric light, telephones,
and so forth constantly, I can't pretend to more than a general notion
of how they work. Couldn't _make_ any of 'em, you know. Not _my_ line of
business!"

"If that is indeed the case," said the President, "we find it the more
difficult to understand why his Royal Highness should have reproached us
for an ignorance which is no greater than either his own or your
Majesty's."

"I wasn't reproaching you," said the Crown Prince, a little awkwardly,
"I was only telling you how differently things are managed where _we_
come from. But after all, that isn't the point, so we'll say no more
about it. Let's get back to the Gnomes. One of you--I think it was the
gentleman with the grey topknot--objected that there was no other useful
way of employing them, except in the mine. Well, of course, we've
thought all that out," he declared, though, as a matter of fact, the
idea had only just struck him. "We intend to set 'em to work at laying
out a golf links, and when they've done that, we shall keep 'em on as
caddies. They're such nippy little devils that they ought to be jolly
useful.... Ah, naturally, you _wouldn't_ know what Golf is. Well, Golf
happens to be a thing I _do_ know something about. I can teach you
_that_ right enough. It's simply the greatest game going, and you'll be
grateful to me for introducing it. Don't worry," he added, as some of
the Council expressed dissent, "nobody's asking you to learn unless you
like. I shouldn't say myself that any of you--except perhaps the
Marshal--was very likely to shape into a 'plus' man. I fancy _he's_ got
the makings of a golfer in him, though, and, once I've got the course
laid out and given him a lesson or two, I bet you'll see he'll be as
keen as mustard."

Before the Council broke up, the ex-Regent undertook that, as soon as
Clarence had selected the ground, the Gnomes should be removed from
their present quarters, and placed under the Crown Prince's directions.

"Never again, Sidney," declared the Queen afterwards, "will you and I
sit through one of those tiresome councils! We'll leave them to manage
their own silly business, and if there's anything that requires our
signatures, they can bring the papers to us, and we'll sign them in our
own rooms. If there should be any difficulty, we can always ask the
Marshal--he's so very sympathetic and helpful."

"Very," said the King, "oh, very--that is, I half fancied now and
then--but I believe he means us well. Yes, on the whole, my dear, I
think he's a person we can trust."

"You needn't _think_ about it, Sidney," she replied; "you can feel
absolutely _certain_ that there's _nothing_ that man wouldn't do for
us!"




CHAPTER VII

A GAME THEY DID NOT UNDERSTAND


With regard to the Royal visit to the Gold Mine, it should be mentioned
that, on returning to the Palace, the Queen and Princess Ruby had met
Daphne in one of the galleries. Ruby ran to her impulsively: "Oh, Miss
Heritage!" she cried, "we've had a ripping afternoon. Such fun throwing
money to the people, and seeing them scramble for it! We saw the Gold
Mine. And all the darling little Gnomes! You _would_ have loved them! I
do wish you had come with us!"

"I fully intended to have arranged for you to do so, Miss Heritage,"
said Queen Selina, with unwonted graciousness. "But with so much to
think of----! Do you happen to know where my other ladies-in-waiting
are?... In the Tapestry Chamber? Then I must get you to show me to it,
for I don't know my way yet about this immense house.... Through here?
Yes, you will accompany me--in fact, I particularly desire you to be
present."

At her entrance the Maids of Honour all rose from their seats and made
obeisances which, but for the Court Godmother's revelations of their
ancestries, would have occasioned their Sovereign agonies of
embarrassment. But she felt she could face them now without _mauvaise
honte_, and indeed with all the assurance of superiority.

"You may sit down, _girls_," she said, and although they found it hard
to believe at first that they could be the persons thus addressed, they
sat down.

"And what are you all about?" she inquired. "Embroidery, is it? The
pattern seems rather large.... Oh, tapestry? I _see_. I prefer a bright,
cheerful paper on the walls to any tapestry myself. Only collects dust.
Now if you were to knit some warm woollen jerseys for those wretched
little Gnomes, who are really in _want_ of them, you would be doing
something useful. But that wasn't what I--ah, to be sure, I remember
now. I looked in to tell you, girls, that I have appointed Miss Heritage
here as my First Lady-in-waiting. You will be careful to address her in
future as 'Lady Daphne,' and treat her in all respects as your equal in
rank.... I don't know why you should look so surprised." (If they did,
it was merely that any such recommendation should be thought necessary.)
"Miss Heritage's parentage may, it is true, be obscure--but not more so,
from all I have been told, than that of most of your own ancestresses.
Indeed, I am much mistaken if she has not a better claim to be
considered a lady than any of them. Not that I think mere birth of any
importance myself, but I object to people giving themselves airs without
some real _ground_ for it. I am not alluding to Lady Daphne, whom I have
always found perfectly well-behaved and unpretentious."

This was not perhaps the surest way of endearing Daphne to her new
companions, but then Queen Selina was less concerned to effect that than
to make them pay for the excessive deference she had so mistakenly shown
them in the past.

However, in their simplicity it had never occurred to them that they had
any cause to be ashamed of their descent, and so they never imagined
that their Royal Mistress could insult them with it, and her shafts
missed the target.

Fortunately for Daphne, too, she was already the object of a secret
_schwärmerei_ that left no room in their sentimental bosoms for jealousy
or ill-feeling.

But, not being aware of this as yet, she was rendered only unhappy by
this sudden rise in the Royal favour. Her one consolation was the
certainty that it would not be very long before she was again in
disgrace.

On the afternoon of the day on which the State Council had been held,
the Crown Prince explored the surrounding country with a view to
selecting a golf course.

He found a district which was in every way suitable for his purpose--a
stretch of undulating land in a valley behind the plateau on which the
Palace stood, abounding in natural hazards, and affording great
facilities for artificial ones--in short, an ideal site for any links.
He began laying it out the next morning. The Gnomes were brought out of
the mine and conducted to the spot. The general idea was conveyed to a
Gnome who seemed, on the whole, less devoid of intelligence than his
fellows, and they all set to work with more activity than immediate
result. However, they seemed to take kindly to their new industry, and
Clarence was very well pleased with them. He had had no experience in
golf-architecture himself, but the nature of the ground was such that it
required but little to turn it into a very sporting course indeed, and,
if the Gnomes did not do much else, they constructed some remarkably
cunning bunkers.

While they were thus engaged he ordered several sets of clubs to be
made from rough designs of his own by a master artificer in Eswareinmal,
who carried them out with considerable skill and fidelity. The
implements he produced may not have been quite according to Club
standards, but they were fairly serviceable. The balls seemed at first
likely to be the main difficulty, but some were discovered on the
toy-stalls in the market square which, though not of rubber, were
composed of a substance that proved an admirable substitute. They were
certainly open to one objection that, in ordinary circumstances, might
have disqualified them--they cost considerably under a farthing each.
But Clarence got over that by paying a ducat apiece for them. And then,
as the work progressed but slowly, he was forced to wait with what
patience he could until the links were ready for practising on.

It does not take long for most people to get accustomed to any
surroundings, no matter how novel, and Queen Selina and her family soon
became acclimatised. Now that her household had lost their terrors for
her, she began to enjoy the sensation of being a Queen and inspiring
reverence and awe wherever she went, though she could have wished to be
the ruler of a Kingdom that was not quite so _outré_ as Märchenland.
However, she felt she must take it as it was, and in a short time she
had almost forgotten that there ever had been a period when she had not
occupied a throne.

Princess Edna, though she frequently protested that her rank had no
charms for her, was ready enough to assert it on all occasions, and
exercised authority over the unfortunate ladies-in-waiting to a degree
that might have rendered their lives a burden to them if they had been
able to take her as seriously as she did herself, which they were not.

"Mother," she remarked one day, "I've been quite shocked to find how
appallingly ignorant our Maids of Honour are. Fancy, they've never heard
of Shakespeare, or Ibsen, or Bernard Shaw, or--well, anybody!"

"My dear," said the Queen, "what can you _expect_ from such a set of
giggling, empty-headed minxes?"

"I know. Still, I feel it a duty to do what I can to improve their
minds. I shall bring down my note-book this afternoon. It's got all my
notes on those lectures on English Literature I attended last Autumn. I
thought I'd read them aloud to them. It would give them a very good
general idea of the subject. Enough, at least, to enable them to talk
about it without exposing themselves."

"I'm sure, Edna dear, it's most sweet of you to trouble about them."

"Oh, since I have to live with a Court, I must try and raise it to a
more intellectual level."

And so that afternoon, while the ladies of the Court were engaged, under
the Queen's supervision, in knitting little woollen garments of
shattering hues for the unsuspecting Gnomes, the Princess Royal produced
her note-book and read aloud extracts which gave an impressionist
bird's-eye view of English Literature from the fourteenth to the close
of the nineteenth Century.

No doubt the lecturer had given his audience credit for some previous
acquaintance with the subject, and it may be that Princess Edna's method
of note-taking had been a trifle desultory; it was certain that the
ladies-in-waiting found a difficulty in assimilating the scraps of
literary pemmican she dispensed to them.

They received with polite but languid attention such items as that:
"Shakespeare stands supreme among dramatists for consummate knowledge of
the human heart"; that: "as _Ralph Roister Doister_ is the first pure
comedy, so _The Vicar of Wakefield_ may be termed the first idyllic
English novel"; that: "while Byron possessed more intellect than
imagination, Shelley, on the contrary, was rather imaginative than
intellectual"; and even the statement that: "Browning's 'Ring and the
Book' contains upwards of twenty-one thousand lines" left them unmoved.

It is true they were more interested in hearing that it was: "after he
had come under the spell of Petrarch and Boccaccio that Chaucer produced
his wondrous Tales," but it appeared their interest was due to some
slight misapprehension. Daphne felt the fearful joy of suppressed mirth
combined with the danger of detection as she heard Edna explaining with
laborious patience that she had _not_ intended to convey that the Poet
had been afflicted by a pair of enchanters with any caudal appendages
whatever.

But the Princess Royal could not conceal her disgust when her final
extract, which was to the effect that: "during the closing decade of the
Nineteenth Century England became once more a 'nest of singing birds,'
as was apparent from the stream of fresh and melodious strains issuing
from, among other sources, 'The Bodley Head,'" was greeted with a ripple
of girlish laughter from her hearers. It seemed that this
incontrovertible statement of fact had somehow aroused reminiscences of
another head which, if fresh, had not been precisely melodious on the
luncheon board after the Coronation.

Princess Edna waited with cold dignity until the last giggle was no
longer audible before announcing that she was willing to answer any
questions they might wish to ask her. Upon which Baroness Kluge von
Bauerngrosstochterheimer begged that they might be favoured with the
outline of one of the romances written by the Poet Shakespeare, who they
had been informed by her was so unsurpassed as a story-teller.

Now Edna was undoubtedly well versed in the Literature of her native
land. She could not only have given with tolerable accuracy the names
and dates of the principal authors of each century, but a list of their
best-known works, and an estimate of the rank assigned to them by modern
criticism. She had even, impelled by an almost morbid conscientiousness,
consulted the works themselves, and could honestly assert that she had
read every single play of Shakespeare's all through, though her private
preference was for a more advanced and psychological form of drama.

And yet on this occasion she chose to parry the Baroness's very
reasonable request. "Shakespeare," she said, in her most superior tone,
"did not write romances. He wrote _plays_."

"Will your Royal Highness please," said the Baroness, "to tell us about
one of _them_?"

For the life of her Edna could not just then summon up a clear
recollection of the plot of any Shakespearian comedy or tragedy--and it
is quite possible that there are many persons as highly educated as she
who might be equally at a loss.

"With so prolific a writer as Shakespeare," she hedged, "it is difficult
to single out any particular play."

She was so plainly embarrassed that Daphne felt impelled to come to the
rescue.

"I think, Ma'am," she said, "they would like the story of _The Merchant
of Venice_!"

"I should hardly call it suitable myself to such an audience as this,"
replied Edna, who was possibly confusing it with _Othello_. "No, Miss
Heritage, I really think something less--less objectionable would
be--There's _As you like it_, now, _quite_ a pleasant play. I think I
can remember the outline of _that_. Let me see. Yes, it's about a girl
called "Rosalind," who dressed up as a boy and ran away into a forest,
where she met Ferdinand--or was it Bassanio?--anyway, the name is of no
consequence. Well, and he carved her name on all the trees, and so they
fell in love, and in the end they were married, you know."

As drama this appeared to strike the ladies-in-waiting as lacking in
incident, and the Baroness von Haulemännerschen openly declared that an
ancestress of hers who also ran away into a forest had the far more
exciting experience of being poisoned by a jealous Queen and enclosed by
dwarfs in a glass coffin.

"Oh, very well!" said Edna; "if you are going to compare your own silly
traditions with works of genius, I give you up as hopeless!"

And this was the beginning and the end of the Princess Royal's attempt
to infuse Culture into Court Circles.

She had certainly failed signally to inspire her ladies with any
enthusiasm for English Literature, though, strangely enough, Daphne
succeeded later in giving them a more favourable impression of its
quality.

Edna was, of course, incomparably more widely read, but then Daphne
knew such authors as she had read well enough to be able to give a very
full and clear account of her favourite books, and to repeat many of her
best loved poems from memory.

It is quite possible that much of the pleasure her companions took in
hearing her do so was due to her own personality. They were not, it must
be confessed, a highly intellectual or cultivated set of young women,
but one and all regarded Daphne with a whole-hearted adoration which
would have given Princess Edna, had she condescended to notice it, a
lower opinion than ever of their intelligence.

The links were at last in a sufficiently advanced stage for practice at
the first nine of the eighteen holes, and Clarence undertook to instruct
the Marshal in the mysteries of the game. The Marshal, though slightly
handicapped by insisting on playing in a breastplate and high boots, was
so much encouraged by the success which most beginners at golf
experience that he at once became an ardent votary. He tried to make
converts of the Courtiers, but they preferred to keep an open mind and
remain spectators for the present.

Prince Tapfer von Schneiderleinberg indeed went so far as to say that
golf seemed to him to be without the element of danger which all genuine
sport should possess. He modified that opinion, it is true, after
incautiously standing close behind the Marshal when he was driving off
from the tee, but it did not alter his prejudices against the game.

King Sidney practised most assiduously in private, and found he improved
in his driving under Clarence's tuition. The Gnomes had been established
in a kind of compound near the links, but their unfortunate tendency to
bolt with the club-bags and purloin every ball they found rather
impaired their usefulness as caddies. Marshal Federhelm treated his with
regrettable inhumanity.

There was still a good deal of "ground under repair" on the course, but
the day was drawing near when the links could be formally opened. The
Marshal was anxious to celebrate the occasion by challenging his Royal
Master to play him a single, a challenge which was conveyed through the
Crown Prince.

"Well, what do _you_ think, my boy," asked King Sidney. "Can I beat
him?"

"I think you ought to, Guv'nor. He fancies himself at it--but he's
pretty rotten."

"In that case, you can tell him I accept," said the King.

But on the morning before the day, Clarence, after watching his parent
top and slice and foozle through a whole round without intermission,
became less sanguine.

"I tell you what it is, Guv'nor," he said, frankly, "the Marshal's been
shaping a bit better these last few days, and it's my belief he can give
you a stroke a hole and win easy."

"After all," said the King, "I'm not sure there isn't a certain loss of
dignity--playing with my own subject, don't you know."

"It won't do to let him lick you, certainly," agreed Clarence.

"Quite so, my boy, quite so. I was thinking--I might be prevented by
sudden business--I could go and sit with the Council, you know."

"He'd only want you to fix another day for playing him. It's no use,
Guv'nor, you can't get out of it now. Perhaps you'd do better if you
played with a different sort of ball. I must see if I can't get you one
or two."

And that evening he brought his father half a dozen. "They're specially
marked," he said, "so you can't make a mistake over them, and I fancy
you'll find they travel better than any of the Marshal's."

"You've got those golf balls I gave you?" he asked the King at breakfast
next morning. "Mind you don't forget to take 'em."

"I shan't forget, my boy. But what I'm most troubled about is my
swing--there's something wrong with it, only I can't find out what."

"I think it a great pity myself," said Queen Selina, "that you ever
agreed to play this match at all. If you are beaten it will certainly
lower your prestige. But I am sure the dear Marshal has too much tact
not to let you win."

"Don't you worry, Mater," said Clarence. "The Guv'nor's going to win on
his own, hands down!"

"I sincerely hope so. It will be a sad blow to the Throne if he does
_not_."

These remarks did not help much to steady King Sidney's nerves when he
met the Marshal on the links, where, as Monarch, he naturally had the
honour. A large crowd of onlookers from the Court had collected, and the
players had decided to dispense with caddies under the circumstances.

The first hole was only about a hundred and sixty yards; a deep gully
lay between, and on either side of the approach were beds of tall
rushes.

King Sidney addressed his ball for some time in agonising indecision
before he finally drove off. A cloud of sand rose; the ball was nowhere
to be seen, and, taught by experience, he looked behind for it.

"Jolly good shot!" cried Clarence. "Right on the green!"

"Is it, my boy?" said the King. "I can't see it there myself."

"No more can I," Clarence owned, "but I bet you what you like you're on
the pretty, anyway. Your drive, Marshal."

The Marshal smote a mighty blow, and his ball likewise vanished.
Clarence was of opinion that it had gone over the boundary, but the
Marshal was so certain that it was on the green that he declined to
search for it.

"Funny," said Clarence disappointedly, as they neared the pin, "I don't
see your ball anywhere, Pater. Nor yet the Marshal's."

"I fancy mine isn't very far away, my boy," said the King hopefully.

One of the Courtiers who had gone to the hole, called out to say that he
could see a ball marked with a Royal Crown wedged in by the pin.

"By George, Guv'nor!" cried Clarence, "you've holed it in one!"

"Ah," said King Sidney, "I _thought_ I'd got the right direction."

But the next moment both of them were depressed by the announcement that
the Marshal's ball had also landed in the hole. The Courtier had
naturally mentioned his Sovereign's achievement first, but there could
be no possible doubt that the Marshal had succeeded in equalling it.

To have holed out at a hundred and sixty yards is not by any means an
unprecedented feat, but that two players should have done it in
succession was at least a rather remarkable coincidence. It was a severe
disappointment to the King, who had serious doubts of his own ability to
repeat such a performance.

The next hole was a long one, some six hundred yards, over undulating
land with patches of bog; the green was on a hillock protected by
artfully devised bunkers, and the approach was full of difficulties.

The Marshal was given the honour, and, as before, none could follow the
flight of his ball, though he declared with the greatest confidence that
it was straight for the green. King Sidney's drive did not look very
promising, but Clarence assured him that it was probably a longer one
than he thought.

But neither player could locate his ball as they trudged on, and, though
it seemed unlikely that either could have reached the green, they did
not stop to search on the way to it. Still, when they arrived there each
of them was obviously astonished by the discovery that the other had
holed out once more. Even had the distance been less, it seemed to them
that this was stretching the long arm of coincidence almost too far, but
they did not say so; in fact, they both thought it wiser to abstain from
any comment at all. The next hole was some three hundred and fifty
yards, with several extremely tricky hazards, but, contrary to all
reasonable expectations, both King Sidney and the Marshal distinguished
themselves by doing it in one.

At this the King felt bound to make some comment. "Very even game this,
Marshal, so far," he said.

"Very even indeed, Sire!" said the Marshal curtly, and turned aside to
curse under his breath.

However, after they had played the fourth and fifth holes with precisely
the same result, King Sidney became suspicious. "Clarence, my boy," he
said, taking him aside. "It strikes me there's something rather odd
about his play. I can't understand it!"

"_I_ can," said Clarence; "it's plain enough. Haven't you noticed he's
been using a mashie--the _same_ mashie every time? Well, he's bribed or
bullied that pop-eyed little swine of an Astrologer to enchant it for
him--that's what _he's_ done!"

"What a confounded low, ungentlemanly trick!" spluttered King Sidney in
high indignation. "Just when I was beginning to find my form at last,
too! I shall decline to go on with the match. And what's more, when we
_do_ get a Golf Club started, I'll have him blackballed for it!"

"I wouldn't make a row about it if I were you," advised Clarence.

"Not make a row? When he's taking an unfair advantage of me by using
this infernal Magic?--which is unlawful, by Gad, don't you forget
_that_! Why shouldn't I denounce such trickery?"

"Because," said the Crown Prince, "he might say something disagreeable
about it being a case of Pot and Kettle, don't you know."

"Let him!" cried the King. "Let him! I defy him to prove that I've had
anything done to _my_ clubs!"

"Not the clubs," said Clarence; "it's those balls I gave you. I hadn't
meant to tell you, but p'raps I'd better now. I paid that little sweep
to put a spell on 'em. Of course I'd no idea he'd go and overdo it like
this. If he'd been anything of a Golfer he'd have known most of these
holes couldn't be done under three or four. And now he's given you both
away, blast him!"

"It--it's _most_ unfortunate!" said King Sidney. "I--I don't quite see
what to do about it."

"Simple enough," said his son, "pretend not to notice anything and play
it out."

"I suppose I must, my boy, I suppose I must. But I know I shan't play so
well after this--it's quite put me off my game!"

"No, it hasn't, Guv'nor. You'll play up all right, at least if Xuriel
knows his job."

Xuriel apparently did know his job, for the King's ball continued to be
as foozle-proof as the Marshal's mashie.

It would be tedious to describe any further holes. When a bewitched
mashie is pitted against an enchanted ball, there can obviously be none
of the alternations and vicissitudes of Fortune which constitute the
charm of Golf.

When they were at the turn, having halved every hole up to the ninth,
the Marshal had had enough of it. "We are too well matched, Sire," he
said, "and to proceed would only be to waste your Majesty's time, which
is of far more value than my own."

"H'm, well, perhaps we'd better call it a draw and have done with it,"
said the King.

The Court had witnessed the game without excitement or astonishment.
They saw no particular reason why the balls should fail to reach the
hole in one stroke, and did not care in the least whether they failed or
not. The only impressions they received were that Golf was too
monotonous and too easy a pastime to have any attractions for them, and
that nothing should induce them to indulge in it against such
invincible champions as his Majesty and the Ex-Regent.

"I must say, my boy," said the King to his son, as they walked back to
the Palace together, "I wish you hadn't gone to that magician fellow. It
makes it so very awkward for _me_."

"It would have been a jolly sight more awkward if I hadn't. Just think
of the licking you'd have had, what?"

"Yes, yes--but there's your Mother. She's so set against Magic of any
kind. I really don't know what I'm to say to her."

"Well," said Clarence, "I should hope, Guv'nor, you wouldn't be such a
jay as to say anything."

"It might be only distressing her unnecessarily," said the King.

"Sidney!" exclaimed the Queen when they met, "I can see by your face
that you've been beaten after all!"

"Not at all, my love, not at all. Far from it!"

"Then you've won?"

"Well--er--not exactly _won_, my dear. We--we finished up all square."

"Considering how long you've been learning, that's as bad as if you'd
lost. Now, mind what I say, Sidney, you must never attempt to play golf
again after this. I cannot have you making yourself ridiculous!"

"I think you're right, my dear," he said meekly. "In fact, I had already
decided to give it up."

Clarence clung to his Golf as long as he could, but he found it dreary
work going round the course alone. None of the Courtiers could be
induced to learn the game, and he felt a natural reluctance to take on
the Marshal as an antagonist, even if the latter had continued to be
keen. But he had conceived a strong distaste for the game, and it was
rumoured that there had been a stormy interview between him and the
Astrologer Royal, who kept his bed for several days afterwards.

And Clarence, as the Yellow Gnomes were impossible as caddies, had to
carry his own clubs, which he particularly detested. So in course of
time he ceased to visit the links, and thus deprived himself of his only
form of open-air exercise.

There was nothing much for him to do, except to lounge and loaf
aimlessly about the Palace, with a depressed suspicion that he was not
inspiring the full amount of respect that was due to his position as
Crown Prince. It would have been a distraction to make advances to
Daphne, but, after his somewhat cavalier treatment of her at the Ball,
he could not be sure how they would be received. Moreover, either by her
own management or his Royal Mother's, he was never given a chance of
seeing her except in public.

He found a resource in gambling with the gentlemen of the Royal
Household. They played for high stakes, but no higher, seeing that he
could replenish his purse as often as it was emptied, than he could well
afford. His visits to the sacks of gold in the King's Counting-house
became more and more frequent, but he would have derived more enjoyment
from cards if he had won occasionally.

One afternoon when, the usual card-players being absent on some hunting
expedition, he was left to his own devices, he wandered forlornly
through a suite of empty halls till he drifted out upon a balcony that
overlooked the Palace gardens.

And then, as he stepped through the window, his heart gave a sudden
leap. At the corner of the balcony he had just recognised Daphne. She
was quite alone, and he recognised that the opportunity, half-feared,
half-desired, had come at last.




CHAPTER VIII

"A STEED THAT KNOWS HIS RIDER"


Daphne turned and saw Prince Clarence almost immediately, and, after
making the prescribed curtsey, was about to retreat indoors when he
stopped her.

"I say, Lady Daphne," he remonstrated, "don't run away like that!"

"Your Royal Highness will be good enough to excuse me," she said; "I
ought to be with Princess Ruby by this time."

"_She's_ all right--trying to teach the Pages hockey in the Entrance
Court. And--look here, you needn't be so beastly formal--with _me_, you
know."

"I may remind your Royal Highness that you desired me to observe the
strictest etiquette."

"Did I? I only meant in public. Let's drop it just now, anyway. I've
been wanting to get a talk with you. You see, you're the only person
here I can really talk to; and if you only knew how awfully hipped and
depressed I'm feeling----"

"Are you?" she said. "I'm sorry." And there was certainly pity in the
soft grey eyes which rested on him for a moment or two.

"I give you my word," he went on, "there are times when I almost wish
myself back at the office again. There were things to be done there,
even if I didn't do 'em. Here there's nothing--except cards. It
wouldn't be so bad if the chaps here only knew Auction--I could hold my
own at that. But you couldn't play bridge with the sort of packs they've
got in this God-forsaken country. So they've taught me a bally game they
call 'Krebsgriff,' and I've lost over two sacks of ducats at it already.
Anyone would think after _that_ they'd treat me as a pal, but not a bit
of it!"

"Perhaps, Sir, they're afraid of being rebuked for such presumption."

"Perhaps, but I don't think it's that. They're polite enough and all
that, to my face, but they don't look _up_ to me, you know!"

"Why _should_ they?" Daphne thought, but all she said was, "That's very
sad."

"Isn't it?" he said; "they don't give me a chance to show what I _can_
do. I could knock their silly heads off at golf, and they won't even
learn! And now I can't get a game; and this afternoon, when _I_ was
feeling inclined for cards, they all go off to the forest without a word
to me, hunting beastly boars and bears, and I'm left without a soul to
speak to."

"They might have asked you to do them the honour of coming too," said
Daphne.

"I couldn't very well have gone if they had. You see, they hunt boars
and that on horseback here, and riding's a thing I've never gone in
for."

"It's not too late to begin, Sir."

"Well, to tell you the truth, I did think at one time of taking a few
lessons. But I don't know. You see, it would get about, and--well,
people would think it rather ridiculous."

"I should have thought--" began Daphne; "no, I mustn't say any more."

"Oh, go on, Lady Daphne, don't mind _me_! What would you have thought?"

"Well," said Daphne boldly, "that nothing could be so ridiculous as a
Crown Prince who can't sit a horse."

"I daresay I could as well as any other fellow, if I tried."

"No doubt, sir, but if you never _do_ try."

"I would, if I thought you cared."

"Of course I care, Prince Clarence," said Daphne. "Naturally, I should
like to see you doing everything that other Princes do. You really
aren't, so far, you know. I suppose I oughtn't to have said that--I
couldn't help it."

"That's all right," he said. "There's one thing," he added, thinking
aloud, "if I _did_ learn to ride decently, you and I might go out riding
together, what?"

"It's rather early to talk about that," said Daphne, "when you haven't
even begun to learn."

"I know, but I _will_ begin. For _your_ sake."

"No, Prince Clarence, for your own," she replied, "though I shall be
glad, too. And now, I mustn't stay here any longer."

Why, he asked himself, after she had gone, was she so keen on his
cutting a figure at Court? The answer was obvious--he had interested and
impressed her more than he could have hoped. But that, he shrewdly
perceived, only made it more necessary for him to be wary. She was
certainly a most fascinating girl, but if she had any ambitious designs
on him, she would find that he was quite capable of taking care of
himself. Still, she was right about his riding. Every Prince ought to be
able to ride. It would not take him long to learn. And when he could
ride he would go out hunting. She would think a lot more of him when
she saw him returning in triumph with a few boars and bears as trophies
of the chase.

Accordingly he took the earliest opportunity of mentioning to his family
that he intended to take lessons in horsemanship, which both the King
and Queen considered an admirable idea. The Marshal was consulted, and
though he opposed it at first, on the ground that anything which might
affect the succession to the throne was to be avoided, he gave way in
the end, and undertook to act himself as Clarence's riding master.
Clarence was prudent enough to stipulate that none of his family should
be present while he was undergoing instruction, and the Court were not
to be informed that he was having any lessons at all until he had
completed the course and become an accomplished equestrian.

"Well, my boy," said the King, when the Crown Prince entered the Royal
Parlour after his private lessons in the Palace tiltyard. "Well, and how
did you get on, hey?"

"Never got on at all," Clarence reluctantly admitted. "Not likely I
should, when there wasn't a bally gee in the stables that would let me
come near him!"

"Clarence!" cried his mother, "you _don't_ mean to say you've been there
all this time without riding a single horse!"

"I'd have ridden 'em right enough, if they'd let me get on 'em--but they
wouldn't."

"And pray what was the Marshal about?" inquired the Queen.

"Well, he was laughing most of the time; it's my belief he'd had 'em all
gingered up beforehand."

"I'm quite sure, Clarence, he would be incapable of such conduct as
that. Why _should_ he?"

"_I_ don't know," he said. "But I won't have _him_ about again. I'll get
some one else to teach me."

"But, my dear boy, nobody can teach you much if you can't even manage to
get on a horse's back. You'll only get hurt if you try any more, and you
will be far wiser to give it up altogether."

"Not much, Mater!" he declared; "I'm not so 

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