“I may be like you in some things, uncle, but I do not think I have your ambition, as I will be quite content with my island sovereignty of Melnos.”
“I daresay you are wise. But, Maurice, what a story all your and my adventures would make—the way you were brought here by Andros—the description of the crater—the attack on the island—why, it would make a capital romance!”
“Which nobody would believe. They would look upon it as an embroidered lie of the ‘Alroy’ species.”
“Ah, the author of that book—Disraeli—what a man!”
“‘The wondrous boy wot wrote “Alroy,”’” said Maurice. “Yes, he certainly was clever; a little too fond in his books of Oriental splendor perhaps, but a genius as a statesman.”
“If Disraeli had been an Eastern vizier, he would have become a king.”
“What a desultory conversation!” said his nephew, laughing; “we began with Eparchs and end with possible sovereigns. Well, as far as I am concerned, this island is big enough for me and the Princess Helena.”
“Who is talking of the Princess Helena?” cried a gay voice behind them, and, on turning, they saw the princess herself, with her arms as usual full of flowers, looking at them both with a smile in her eyes.
“I am the culprit, your highness,” said Maurice, bowing. “When did you arrive?”
“This very moment; so if you have been saying nice things about me, you may as well repeat them.”