“Your Majesty!” gasped the Champion, a sturdy gallant of middle age.
“Answer, sir,” said the monarch—“and vidout eguivocation.”
“I have been with a friend,” stammered Sir Charles, all amazement.
“Ach!” exclaimed his Majesty sarcastically. “The vrow, vas it, vat returnt you your gage in the Hall yesterday?”
“Certainly not, sire,” said the Champion, the flush of outrage on his cheek.
“Not?” said the King. “Who vas she, den, dat voman?”
“The wife of Dobney, the horse-tamer, sire.”
“The vife—vat! Vat had she said to you?”
“She said, your Majesty, ‘Didn’t I warn you not to throw it down in front of her nose, unless you want her to kneel and pick it up?’”
“She? Who?”