"You are not being very helpful this morning, Countess," he said severely.
Instantly the Countess was on her feet, her diary thrown to the floor—no, never thrown—laid gently on the floor, and herself, hands clasped at her breast, a figure of reproachful penitence before him.
"Oh, your Majesty, forgive me—if your Majesty had only asked me—I didn't know your Majesty wanted me—I thought her Royal Highness—— But of course I'll find your Majesty's sword for you." Did she stroke his head as she said this? I have often wondered. It would be like her impudence, and her motherliness, and her—-and, in fact, like her. Euralia Past and Present is silent upon the point. Roger Scurvilegs, who had only seen Belvane at the unimpressionable age of two, would have had it against her if he could, so perhaps there is nothing in it.
"There!" she said, and she picked out the magic sword almost at once.
"Then I'll get back to my work," said Hyacinth cheerfully, and left them to each other.
The King, smiling happily, girded on his sword. But a sudden doubt assailed him.
"Are you sure it's the one?"