“I’m sorry, but you see—”
“Whom have you there?”
The Prince cowered. She looked quite like his grandfather when his tutor’s reports had been unfavorable.
“A friend of mine,” said Bobby, not a whit daunted.
The governess put down the stocking and rose. In so doing, she caught her first real glimpse of Ferdinand William Otto, and she staggered back.
“Holy Saints!” she said, and went white. Then she stared at the boy, and her color came back. “For a moment,” she muttered “—but no. He is not so tall, nor has he the manner. Yes, he is much smaller!”
Which proves that, whether it wears it or not, royalty is always measured to the top of a crown.
In the next room Bobby’s mother was arranging candles on a birthday cake in the center of the table. Pepy had iced the cake herself, and had forgotten one of the “b’s” in “Bobby” so that the cake really read: “Boby—XII.”
However, it looked delicious, and inside had been baked a tiny black china doll and a new American penny, with Abraham Lincoln’s head on it. The penny was for good fortune, but the doll was a joke of Pepy’s, Bobby being aggressively masculine.
Bobby, having passed the outpost, carried the rest of the situation by assault. He rushed into the dining-room and kissed his mother, with one eye on the cake.