“Kings of all people,” said Dane-Latimer, “can’t afford to be laughed at. It doesn’t do a king any real harm if he’s hated, but if once he becomes comic he’s done.”
Gorman thought the matter over for a minute or two.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said at last. “You hold the dentist in play for a day or two and I’ll see what I can do. There’ll be no money. I warn you fairly of that. You won’t even get the amount of your own bill unless Scarsby pays it; but I may be able to fix things up.”
It was not very easy for Gorman to deal with Madame Ypsilante. Her point was that Scarsby had deliberately inflicted frightful pain on her, breaking his plighted word and taking advantage of her helpless position.
“He is a devil, that man,” she said. “Never, never in life has there been any such devil. I did right to kick him. It would be more right to kick his mouth. But I am not a dancer. I cannot kick so high.”
“Corinne,” said the king. “You have suffered. He has suffered. It is, as the English say in the game of golf ‘lie as you like.’ Let us forgive and regret.”
“I do not regret,” said Madame, “except that I did not kick with both feet. I do not regret, and I will not forgive.”
“The trouble is,” said Gorman, “that the dentist won’t forgive either. He’s talking of a thousand pounds damage.”
Madame’s face softened.
“If he will pay a thousand pounds—” she said. “It is not much. It is not enough. Still, if he pays at once——”