“It is what I have tried to do—this treatment,” she said, simply. Then with spirit, “What is it to me what people did a long while back? I hope, Mr Chumbley, you are satisfied.”
“With my dinner?” said the latter. “Yes, perfectly, for my part. It only wants a cup of coffee.”
“Not poisoned?” said the Princess, with a laughing, malicious look at her guest, as she thus recalled to him his suspicions at the fête.
As she spoke she clapped her hands, and coffee was brought in little silver cups upon a silver tray.
“Hilton, old man,” said Chumbley, as he took and liberally sugared a cup of coffee, smiling at the Inche Maida as he spoke.
“Well?” said his companion in misfortune.
“I have quite made up my mind, as I before hinted, not to knock the feathers off my noble breast against the bars of my cage.”
The Princess looked puzzled.
“Pshaw!” ejaculated Hilton; “don’t be absurd.”
“Why not? If to be patient in our present awkward position is being absurd. Won’t you take coffee, Princess?”