She gasped.
“You are to be King!” she exclaimed.
“The people have sent for me,” he answered, simply. “Of course there are difficulties, and after all it may not come to pass. Still, the crown is mine by right, and I am going to strike a blow for it. We leave for Theos to-morrow.”
“A King! To-morrow!” she repeated, vaguely.
She was bereft of words. Ughtred laughed nervously.
“Miss Van Decht,” he said, “it isn’t altogether a prospect of fairyland. There are many things to be given up. There are many things which a man may possess but a King can only covet. I have become somewhat of a Bohemian in my wanderings, and my freedom is very dear to me. Yet I think that I am doing right in making this attempt. I love Theos, and it will be a joy to fight her battles. I love the old city and the mountains and the wild country. I may not be a patriot like Nicholas of Reist, but the old war music seems to leap and burn in my blood when I think of the Turks creeping nearer and nearer to the frontier, and our ancient city full of foreign spies, gathered together like carrion birds before the massacre. It is intolerable!”
She was thoughtful and sympathetic.
“Yes,” she said, softly; “it is right that you should feel like that. Ours is a new country, and there is nothing about her beautiful or historic. Yet, if she were in danger—oh, yes, I understand. You are right to go. May you be successful!”
A crash of martial music from the band filled the air with ringing melody, and for a moment they sat silent. Ughtred took up his as yet unlit cigarette, and Sara sipped her coffee. Around them were little groups of men and brilliantly-dressed women. The pleasant hum of conversation and light laughter came to them with something of an inspiring ring. Down the broad promenade two men were walking. Sara touched her companion on the arm with her fan.
“Look!” she whispered.