"The dear old man in the Jubilee procession?"
"The Victor of Rodova; the representative of the oldest reigning monarchy in Europe."
"Yes, yes. Such an old dear."
"Well, our friend Mrs. Fitz happens to be his only child, the Heiress Apparent to the throne of Illyria. What have you to say to that?"
For the moment Mrs. Arbuthnot had nothing at all to say, but she looked as though a feather would have knocked her over.
"It is a small world, isn't it, mon enfant?"
"It really is the oddest thing out!" Mrs. Arbuthnot's feminine organisation was quite tense. "It doesn't surprise me, and yet it is really too queer."
"Ridiculously queer that humdrum people like us should be entertaining royalties unawares."
"Not nearly so queer as that she should have married Nevil Fitzwaren. How did she come to marry him?"
"They are twin-souls who lived in Babylon three thousand years ago."