"And you will give me that fortnight?"
"Longer, my dear, if you wish."
"No," said the Queen, "a fortnight is quite enough, if she means to spend it pretending to be a Trojan woman."
"If I stay away longer than a fortnight," said Charlotte, "you can send and fetch me." Then she turned to her father. "I am very sorry, papa, ever to have to pain you: but you don't know how dreadful it feels if one isn't allowed to be oneself."
"Oh, don't I?" exclaimed his Majesty. "My dear, if you knew what being a king was really like—but there, we won't talk politics now! By the way, as you came back before we did, do you happen to know what has become of Max?"
"I haven't seen him," said Charlotte with a certain air of discretion; "but I had a line from him in answer to one I wrote on my arrival: and he does seem to have been doing something at last."
"What has he been doing?"
"Getting his head broken."
"Good gracious!" exclaimed the Queen. "However did he come to do that?"
"He says he was working among the strikers and got hit. Nobody knows about it, and he doesn't want it known. He writes that he is being very well looked after at some private nursing place."