The scent of her new mood spread abroad like the scent of honey, and the flies came clustering round her. Chief among them Lord Glendover, the Cabinet Minister, who had made four remarks in the course of the evening—all of them foolish. Tall, lean, hairy, brown and grizzled, he was one of those men who, though neither wise, clever, strong, nor careful, convey a sense of largeness and deserved success. He would have been important, even as a gardener; he would have ruined the flower-beds, but could never have been dismissed. His only assessable claim to greatness lay in the merit of inheriting a big name and estate. He was, in point of fact, quite stupid; but his opinions, launched from such a dock, went out to sea with all the impressiveness of Atlantic liners, and the smaller craft made way respectfully.
Sir Benet Smyth winged after him, buoyant with the grave flightiness of diplomacy, and luminous with the coming glory of his tour of the Courts. For the Government, despairing of reforms in the army, was meditating a wholesale purchase of foreign goodwill, a cheap scheme of national defence, founded on the precept, les petits cadeaux font l’amitié. The details were not yet made known, but rumour had it for certain that the Spanish Infanta was to get the Colonelcy of the Irish Guards, the Mad Mullah was to get the Garter, and President Roosevelt was to get Jamaica. It was also said by some that the Government was going to strike out a new line in honorary titles by making the Sultan of Turkey Bishop of Birmingham: but this was not certain.
Sir Benet and Lord Glendover sat down with Dwala, the General, the Biologist, the Baron, and Huxtable, in a semi-circle centring on Lady Wyse.
‘We’ve been wondering, dear Lady Wyse,’ said the Biologist, ‘what was the subject of your engrossing conversation with the Prince.’
‘I can guess de sopchect,’ said Baron Blumenstrauss. ‘It was loff ... or beesness.’
‘You were so animated, both of you.’
‘Den it was bote. De Breence would nod be animated by beesness, and de laty would nod be animated by loff!’
‘Ha, ha!’ said Lord Glendover, vaguely discerning the outline of an epigram; ‘that’s a right-and-lefter.’
‘You’re quite right, Baron,’ said Lady Wyse: ‘it was both. We’ve been making a compact, I think you call it. The Prince puts himself unreservedly into my hands. I’m to do whatever I like with him.’
‘Gompacts ...’ began the Baron, and broke off.