“Well, perhaps not,” said Chumbley, drily; “but history has a few ugly little records of English doings here and there. Do you know, madam, that you have given us an excellent excuse to pay you a peculiar visit?”
“What! to come and attack and destroy my home—to kill my people?” cried the Princess, excitedly. “You could not—you dare not. But I am safe. I shall not let you go; and as to my other enemies, in a short time you will both be reconciled to your lot, and you will say, ‘Let me stop and defend you.’”
“Hope told a flattering tale,” muttered Chumbley, as he saw the Princess watching Hilton as she spoke; but his distant mien and contemptuous looks so annoyed her that she turned from him angrily and addressed herself to his friend, as if for him to speak.
“Well,” said the latter, coolly, “I am an Englishman, and I like fair play, so I shall speak out. Look here; you know, Princess, it won’t do.”
“What do I know that will not do?” she said, in a puzzled way.
“Why, this foolish kidnapping business of yours; and I frankly tell you that, much as we shall regret leaving such charming quarters, if you only leave the birds’ cage door open for a moment we shall pop out and fly away.”
“I do not quite know what you mean about your birds in cages and your kidnapping,” said the Princess, haughtily; “but I suppose you mean that you will go.”
“Exactly,” said Chumbley, coolly.
“Then,” said the Princess, “I should have thought, for the favours I offer you—the great position and brilliant prospects—you would be grateful now you have had time to reflect, instead of treating me with disdain.”
“Well,” replied Chumbley, in his dry way, “that’s the nature of the English animal.”