"I hope the journey has not tired his Majesty?" I ventured to say. "It must have been very tedious."
Baron von Schalk smiled passively, made a deep guttural noise and answered in very tolerable English, "On the contrary, most interesting. The King never tires himself."
At the top of the steps, framed in a glow of soft light from within, were Mrs. Arbuthnot and the Princess. Standing side by side, they appeared to be vying with one another in the depth and grace of their curtseys. No sooner had the King ascended to them than he took a hand of each in his own and led them into the hall, as though they had been a pair of his small grandchildren. There was a spontaneity about the action which was charming.
Half an hour later we were assembled in the drawing-room. The King promptly offered his arm to his hostess, and led the way in the direction of her unfortunate meal. His daughter placed her hand very lightly upon the arm of the Chancellor, directing an arch look over her shoulder at me as she did so, as if she would say, "There is no help for it!"
Fitz and I, walking side by side, brought up the rear of the procession. The Man of Destiny had a very fell visage.
"What have you done to your arm?" he asked.
"Got smashed up in a taxi this afternoon."
"Where?"
"Oxford Street, I believe."
"What were you doing there?"