“I see you're packing,” Pontycroft remarked.
“Yes—we've had a telegram from my father ordering us to join him at once. We leave at twelve o'clock by a special train. My dear chap, I'm sick. I'm in a cold perspiration. Feel my hands.” His hands were indeed cold and wet. He pressed one of them to his side. “And there's something here that weighs like a ton of ice. I can hardly breathe.”
“The remedy indicated,” said Ponty, “is a brandy-and-soda.”
Bertram's gesture pushed the remedy from him.
“A single spoonful would make me drunk,” he said. “I'm as nearly as possible off my head already. I feel as if I were going out to be hanged. If it weren't for my mother—some one's got to go with her—upon my word, I'd funk it, and take the consequences.”
“Allons donc,” Ponty remonstrated. “A certain emotion is what you must expect—it's part of the game. But think of your luck. Think of your grandeurs. Think of the experience, the adventure, that's before you. To be a real, actual, practising Royalty, a Royal Heir Apparent. Think of the new angle of view from which you'll be able to look at life.”
“Luck? Don't speak of it,” Bertram groaned. “If I had known, if I had dreamed. But we were kept in the dark absolutely. Oh, it was outrageous of the old man. We had a right at least to be warned, hadn't we? Since it involves our entire destinies? Since every one of our hopes, plans, intentions, great or small, is affected by it? We had a right to be warned, if not to be consulted. But never a word—until this morning—first the newspaper—and then his wire. Think of my mother being left to learn the thing from a newspaper. And then his wire: 'Come at once to Altronde.' I feel like a conscript. I feel like a man suddenly summoned from freedom to slavery.”
“You'll find your chains bearable—you'll find them interesting,” Ponty said. “You leave at noon by a special train. Is there any way, meanwhile, in which I can be useful to you?”
“Yes—no—no. Unless you can devise some way to get me out of the mess. The special train is for my mother. In her own fashion she's as much upset as I am. She could not travel coram publico, poor lady.”
“No, of course not. I hope you will make her my compliments,” said Ponty, rising.