Mrs. Spencer sat facing the door and saw us enter. It is inconceivable that she should not have been surprised, and, yet, she betrayed absolutely no sign of it. Indeed, one would have thought we were expected guests. Truly, she was a very wonderful woman.
She said something, very low, to the Duke; then, came forward and curtsied to the King.
"Your Majesty honors me overmuch," she said. And then to me—"Does this really mean that Your Royal Highness has at last decided to acknowledge me?"
Meanwhile, Lotzen had arisen and was standing stiffly at attention, his eyes on the King. I thought his face was a trifle pale—and I did not wonder.
Frederick laughed, curtly, and motioned for her to rise.
"The play is over, Mrs. Spencer," he said. "We will have no more acting, if you please."
She straightened, instantly.
"Your Majesty is pleased to be discourteous—but it seems to be a Dalberg characteristic," she sneered. Then she broke out angrily: "And, as neither you nor that renegade there,"—indicating me with a nod and a look,—"was invited here, I take it I am quite justified in requesting you both to depart. You may be a King, but that gives you no privilege to force your way into a woman's apartments and insult her. You are a brave gentleman, surely, and a worthy monarch. I suppose you brought your pet to protect you lest I offer you violence. Well, I'll give him the chance."
Even as she said it, like a flash, she seized a heavy glass vase from the table and hurled it straight at the King.
It was not a woman's throw. Madeline Spencer had learned the man's swing, in her Army days, and, had the vase struck home, the chances are there would have been a new King in Dornlitz, that night.