"I had just begun a letter to my sister, the Princess Elizabeth, when you came in," the King remarked, maintaining the boyish attitude, which he could never avoid, which, somehow, he never wished to avoid, in the Duke's presence. "It suddenly occurred to me, this morning, that I am the Head of the Family now. I am a poor substitute for my immediate predecessors, I am afraid." He looked up, as he spoke, at the portraits on the opposite side of the room. "But I have decided that I must do my best in my new command."
The Duke looked up in turn. Following the King's glance, his luminous, piercing eyes rested, for a moment or two, on the portraits.
"None of your immediate predecessors were ever called upon to play so difficult a part, as you have to play, sir," he said.
Something in the Duke's manner, a note of unexpected vehemence in his sonorous voice, arrested the King's wandering attention.
His boyishness fell from him.
"What is it?" he asked. "I remember, now, you said you brought news. Is it—bad news?"
"No. It is good news, sir. I could not bring you better news," the Duke replied. "But, I am afraid, in spite of all my warnings, you are not prepared for the announcement which I have to make."
He paused there, for a moment, and looked away from the King.
"The storm, which we have been expecting, for so long, sir," he added, slowly, dwelling on each word, "is about to break."
The King started, and winced, as if he had been struck.