"By the way," said Jodey, who had a polite horror of anything that could be construed as lèse majesté, "where is Illyria?"
"My dear fellow," said I, "don't you know where Illyria is?"
"I'll bet you a pony that you don't either," said Jodey, striving, as young fellows will, to cover his ignorance by a display of effrontery.
"Haven't you been to Blaenau? Don't you know the Sveltkes?—hoch! hoch!"
"No; do you?" said the young fellow, brazenly.
"They are the oldest reigning family in Europe," said Mrs. Arbuthnot, severely.
"How do you know that, Mops?" said the sceptical youth.
"It says so in the German 'Who's Who,'" said the Madam, sternly, "I looked them up on purpose."
"My dear fellow," said I, "if you knew a little less about polo, and a little less about hunting the fox, and a little more about geography and foreign languages and the things that make for efficiency, you would be au courant with the kingdom of Illyria and its reigning family. Tell the young fellow where that romantic country is, old lady."
"First you go to Paris," said the Madam, with admirable lucidity. "And then, I'm not sure, but I think you come to Vienna, and then I believe you cut across and you come to Illyria. And then you come to Blaenau, the capital, where the king lives, which is five hundred miles from St. Petersburg as the crow flies, because I've marked it on the map."