The King looked at his "friend"—the Duke.
With his broad shoulders, and great height, the Duke dominated the little group, at the breakfast table, as he dominated every group, wherever he stood. He was still wearing the rather shabby black office suit which he had been wearing the day before. Whatever his experience had been, within the last twenty-four hours, it had not changed him. The formidable, massive features, under their crown of silver hair, the luminous, piercing, blue eyes, showed no sign of weariness, no hint even of anxiety. The force, the vigour, the look, of the wonderful old man were all unimpaired. He was still, as he had always been, the strong man, sure of himself, and of his purpose.
A sudden, irresistible thrill of relief ran through the King.
From that moment, he knew, for certain, that the Duke had brought good news; that the Duke had "cut the rope"—
The lightning conductor had not failed.
This man could not fail.
There was an awkward little silence, as the King approached the breakfast table.
It was not that the Duke was at a loss. The Duke could never be at a loss. The King recognized that. Nor was it that Uncle Bond was embarrassed. The King was conscious that the little man was watching him with shining, mischievous eyes. Rather it was that the Duke, and Uncle Bond, deferred to him, in this silence, tacitly recognizing that it was for him to indicate how he wished to be met, whether as their friend, or as—the King.
Oddly enough, it was Judith who settled the question.
Slipping into her place behind the coffee pot she turned to the King with her usual friendly little nod, and smile.