"On the contrary, I fear that I have been indulging in mock heroics. Truth and egotism—like a salad—require a certain amount of dressing."
"Since you are Baldos, and not a fairy prince, I think you may instruct the men to carry me back, being without the magic tapestry which could transplant me in a whiff. Goodness, who's that?"
Within ten feet of the sedan chair and directly behind the tall guard stood a small group of people. He and Beverly, engrossed in each other, had not heard their approach. How long they had been silent spectators of the little scene only the intruders knew. The startled, abashed eyes of the girl in the chair were not long in distinguishing the newcomers. A pace in front of the others stood the gaunt, shadowy form of Count Marlanx.
Behind him were the Princess Yetive, the old prime minister, and Baron Dangloss.
CHAPTER XIX — THE NIGHT FIRES
"Why, good evening. Is that you?" struggled somewhat hysterically through Beverly's lips. Not since the dear old days of the stolen jam and sugar-bits had she known the feelings of a culprit caught red-handed. The light from the park lamps revealed a merry, accusing smile on the face of Yetive, but the faces of the men were serious. Marlanx was the picture of suppressed fury.
"It is the relief expedition, your highness," said Yetive warmly. "We thought you were lost in the wilds of the jungle."
"She is much better protected than we could have imagined," said the Iron Count, malevolently mild and polite.