“10 A. M.—‘Good morning.’
“11 A. M.—Sampling new breakfast foods.
“12 M.—Reading the Cimmerian Chatterbox and the Stygian Smart Set.
“1 P. M.—Writing autographs to be auctioned off at New York sales rooms.
“2 P. M.—Dinner.
“3 P. M.—Yachting on the Styx.
“4 P. M.—Sixty minutes with Her Majesty’s diary.
“5 P. M.—Dictating an historical novel to Sir Isaac Pitman.
“By-the-bye,” she broke off suddenly, “Sir Isaac has become afflicted with writers’ cramp and I need someone to take his place. You are that someone.”
I knelt, expecting to feel the flat end of a sword laid upon me, but her Grace simply twined a lock of my blonde hair around her finger.