To the woman it seemed an incredibly short time ere the landlord was back again with the leathern case; to the man in the bed, an incredibly long one. To the King himself, it had no period. He was too indifferent; indeed, he was absorbed in noticing how adorable the woman looked now the defiance was in her eyes. In his opinion, she looked the better for that charming attribute.
As the unhappy lady had feared, the leathern case of the King’s was proved to contain a pair of pistols. With an inimitable air of courtesy, he offered them both to the man propped on the pillows.
“My dear Farnham,” he said, “I can assure you that they are both equally excellent. But take your choice.”
“This, Sire,” said Lord Farnham.
By now he had got that petulant voice of his under admirable control.
“You are too undone to prime it, Farnham,” said the King, graciously. “Pray allow me to do it for you.”
Lord Farnham thanked him humbly.
The King charged the pistol deftly but deliberately. Perfectly calm, nonchalant, smiling as ever, he began to hum a rather loose ballad under his breath. Having primed Lord Farnham’s and placed it tenderly in his grasp, he primed the other for himself, with precisely the same carefulness of hand and the same carelessness of demeanour.
“Farnham,” said the King, “in these somewhat peculiar circumstances I must ask you to take the first shot.”
“Sire, you are the King,” said Lord Farnham. “No subject can take precedence of the King.”