He said desperately: “Leonora, what are you saying! Do you forget that I am to die?”
“Not you, not you! You may be divorced for the time being, poor Maximilian, but you’re not nearly dead yet. I sent that wire myself this morning from Victoria Station—to mark the fact that the Duke of Mall is dead! Long live the Duke of Mall!”
“Leonora, I can’t bear this happiness!”
“But you must learn to put up with it, sweet!”
“Leonora, how divine it is to be in love! I love you, Leonora!”
“My, how this British guy mocks a poor American girl!”
“Words, words, words! Whereas, sweet, a little action would not come amiss. You might for instance, kiss me. Max, how I’ve longed to be kissed by you these last few months! Max darling, please kiss me at once! I assure you it is quite usual between engaged couples.”
Note: The legend of the Dukedom of Mall may not find a full measure of credence owing to the fact (only recently pointed out to the author) that the weather-vane on the tower of St. James’s Palace is adorned, not by a golden cock, but by a golden arrow. But have we not been warned in letters of gold, that shall last so long as mankind lasts, not to put our faith in the word of Princes? The author does in all humility venture to suggest that the same must undoubtedly apply also to the word of Dukes.