‘Oh, they’re only three dukes that papa had promised my hand to—only I wouldn’t have them.’
‘You mean they wouldn’t have you,’ said the King, correcting her.
‘I don’t mean anything of the sort,’ said the Princess.
‘Oh, very well, my dear,’ said the King. ‘Of course, if you say so, it’s all right. But how about the notice?’
‘I think we’ll tear that up,’ said Ernalie. ‘It’s done its duty, and it will be rather in the way now.’
‘Indeed, you surprise me,’ remarked the King.
‘Ernalie is quite right,’ said the Prince.
‘Oh! is she?’ said the King. ‘Then I suppose I’d better tear it up.’ And he did.
When he had finished, and had thrown the fragments into the waste-paper basket, he said:
‘Now I suppose you want me to consent to your marrying each other, and I suppose I’d better, or else I shall have Ernalie pitching into me like anything—only, I really don’t know who you are, young man, except that Ernalie says you are “him” (she ought to say he), and so I suppose you are Treblo, the Prince of the neighbouring kingdom?’