He spoke with a certain ponderous assurance. There was evidently no doubt whatever in his mind that the Emperor’s wish settled the matter. The Queen’s next remark must have startled him.
“What on earth has the Emperor got to do with it?” she said. “Who is the Emperor, anyway?”
“Now that,” said Gorman, “is what I’m always asking. Where does the Emperor come in? I asked Steinwitz. I asked King Konrad Karl. I asked that footling ass Bland-Potterton. They don’t any of them seem to be able to do more than just gasp and say ‘The Emperor’ over and over again.”
“The Emperor’s wish——” said von Moll.
“There you go,” said Gorman. “That’s exactly what I’m complaining about. I ask what the Emperor has got to do with it and all the answer I get is ‘The Emperor.’”
“Anyway,” said the Queen decisively, “the Emperor has nothing to do with me and I’m not going to sell Salissa to him or any one else.”
Von Moll was master of himself this time. No doubt it appeared to him that this defiance of the Emperor’s wish was childish, unworthy of the attention of a serious man. The silly girl who sat at the end of the table playing at being a queen would pack up her boxes and leave the island on the day fixed by the Emperor. Meanwhile she looked quite pretty, prettier than he thought she could look, with her heightened colour, sparkling eyes, and slightly parted lips. He began to think that it might be worth his while to marry her in spite of her bourgeoise blood. He looked at her with cool, appraising eyes. The slight smile on his lips was the only evidence of the contempt he felt for a girl who thought she could resist the Emperor.
After that, conversation at the dinner table became rather difficult. Smith did the best he could with the champagne bottle, but the wine seemed only to increase von Moll’s conviction of his own superior wisdom. The Queen drank nothing but water, so her temper preserved its raw edge. It fell to Gorman to keep things going. He told a series of stories about Ireland, all of them good stories, some of them partly true. No one laughed, except Kalliope, who did not understand the stories but liked the twinkle in Gorman’s eyes. At the end of each story he asked von Moll how he thought the Emperor would deal with a country like Ireland. Von Moll twisted his moustaches fiercely and told Gorman that if Ireland had been a German dependency she would have ceased to trouble the world early in the eighteenth century. Gorman listened with every appearance of deference and docility, while von Moll explained the Prussian way of dealing with people like the Irish.
The Queen could not cut the dinner short. Smith had provided many courses and it was impossible to skip any of them. But at the earliest possible moment she got up and left the room. Gorman closed the door behind her and then drew his chair close to that on which von Moll was sitting. Smith brought in coffee and liqueurs. Gorman took the brandy bottle off the tray and set it on the table at von Moll’s elbow. Smith made an effort to recover the bottle and carry it away. He seemed to think that von Moll had had enough to drink. Gorman was of the same opinion, but he did not allow Smith to carry off the brandy bottle. He thought that von Moll might be very interesting if he took rather more than enough to drink. When Smith, after hovering about for some time, left the room, Gorman refilled von Moll’s glass.
“Silly little thing, Miss Donovan,” he said, in a confidential tone.