"Oh, sire! Oh yes—may it please Your Gracious Majesty—yes, I dare say I am. Oh yes." Mrs. Russell was quite overcome at the royal condescension.
"Sure," continued "His Majesty," "we r'y'l personages always acknowledge our cousins. You're a cousin av mine, a distant one, it's thrue, but degrays don't count wid us. Wanst a cousin, alwavs a cousin."
"Ah, sire!"
"I niver knowed that ve were a cousin befoor," said "His Majesty," "or else I'd saluted ye in our r'y'l fashion, just as our cousin Quane Victoria did whin she acknowledged the Imperor Napoleon. It's our way to acknowledge relationship wid the r'y'l kiss. We call it the Kiss av State. Allow me, cousin."
And before the astounded Mrs. Russell understood his intention, "His Majesty" put his arm round her waist, and gave her a sounding smack, which seemed to Katie like the report of a pistol.
This was altogether too much for poor Katie. She had almost lost control of herself several times already, but now it was impossible to maintain it any longer, and she went off into a wild burst of laughter. It proved contagious. Dolores caught it, and clung to Katie, burying her face against her, and half hiding it behind her.
"His Majesty" dropped his "cousin" as though he had been shot, and, turning round, regarded the two young ladies for some minutes in silence, while Mrs. Russell sat rigid with horror at this shocking irreverence. But in the royal eye, as it rested on Katie, there was a merry twinkle, until at length the contagion seized upon "His Majesty" himself, and he too burst forth into peals of laughter. After this even Mrs. Russell joined in, and so it happened that the King and the three ladies enjoyed quite a pleasant season.
The King at length recovered from his laughing fit, and drew himself up as though preparing for business.
"Ye see," said he, "Misther Russell has committed an offince against our r'y'l prayrogatives, an' ayven his being our cousin doesn't help him, so it doesn't, for ye see it's a toime av danger—the habeas corpus is suspindid, thrial by jury's done up; there's only martial law, an', be jabers, there's a coort-martial in session at this blessed momint in the room overhead."
"Oh, sire," exclaimed Mrs. Russell, clasping her hands, "they're not sitting on my poor John!"