"Is your faither deed?" further inquired the varlet, who really was shockingly familiar.
"He died"—here the princess faltered and looked almost as though she might weep at any moment—"while I was yet a babe, nigh upon forty years ago."
"That's a long time," murmured the prince thoughtfully.
"It is," the princess agreed, "and meanwhile my evil cousin has usurped the throne—— Now let us do it all over again." Here she spoke in a perfectly natural voice. "Perhaps you'll be a bit better this time. You ought to be much more surprised when I first appear, you ought to be struck dumb with amazement and delight, and then say all sorts of beautiful things. You should see my daddie do it."
"No, no," protested the varlet, as he arose and rubbed his knees, "we've got to find that old baron first and kill him. Wouldn't you like to be the baron now for a change?"
"Certainly not," said the princess with great dignity. "I'm only the princess always; we never have killings or horrid things of that sort. Are you ready?"
"Wouldn't you like to see the garden?" Montagu suggested; "it's very very pretty."
"I've seen plenty of gardens, thank you. This town is all over gardens. Are you ready?"
The princess was once more shrouded by her curtains. Edmund looked despairingly at Montagu.
"Shall we show her our secret place?" he whispered. "We simply can't play that silly old game all over again."