"Oh!"
"Charlemagne in half-mourning, because Pepin the Short had just died. Something quiet in grey, with a stripe, I thought. Only half-mourning because he only got half the throne. By-the-way I suppose all these people wore pumps and white kid gloves all right? Yes, I thought so. I wonder if Charlemagne really had black hair. Anyhow, they can't prove he didn't, seeing when he lived. He flourished about 770, you know. As a matter of fact 770 wasn't actually his most flourishing year, because the Radicals were in power then, and land went down so. Now 771—yes. Or else as Raymond Blathwayt."
"Anyhow," I added indignantly a minute later, "I swear I'm going somehow."
* * * * * * *
"Hallo," I said cheerfully, as I ran into her Majesty in Piccadilly, "I've just been ordering—that is to say, I've been going——I mean I'm just going to—— Let's see, it's next week, isn't it?"
For a moment Elizabeth was speechless—not at all my idea of the character.
"Now then," she said at last, "I am going to take you in hand. Will you trust yourself entirely to me?"
"To the death, your Majesty. I'm sickening for something, as it is."
"How tall are you?"
"Oh, more than that," I said quickly. "Gent's large medium, I am."