"Are those your commands or the Queen's?" he asked, tossing the glass matchbox a little way into the air and catching it again. His behaviour irritated Von Hügelweiler inexpressibly.
"They are commands—that is enough for you," he retorted crudely.
"Not nearly enough, I assure you," responded Trafford, with exaggerated blandness. "I have her Majesty's orders to be in close attendance on her royal person. Until I get counter-orders from an equally high source I shall perform the pleasant and honourable duty of being in the closest possible proximity to our dear Sovereign."
Hügelweiler's face became livid with rage.
"Show me your orders!" he demanded harshly.
"They were conveyed in a private note, otherwise I should have much pleasure, my superior officer."
"I command you to show them to me!" cried the Captain, losing all patience; "and for heaven's sake cease tossing that infernal matchbox!"
This was altogether too much for Trafford's sorely-tried self-control. He had held himself in with incalculable patience up to now, but he felt that the moment had arrived for letting himself go—thoroughly.
