"I don't know what I was going to say," the King muttered uncomfortably, with his eyes on his plate. "I know what I was going to say before you—took the wind out of my sails. I was all ready with a speech. I had two speeches ready."
"It is a pity that they should be wasted," Uncle Bond remarked. "Get them off your chest, my boy. They will probably serve more than one useful purpose. Apart from anything else, they will give me a chance to get on with my lunch. You have got rather ahead of me, I observe. Take which ever comes first. The slow music dies away—the Hero of the Piece speaks—"
The King fingered his wineglass nervously. He wanted to put himself right with Uncle Bond. He wanted to tell him that he had meant to reveal his real identity himself, that he had meant to apologize for the deception he had practised. He wanted to rehabilitate himself in his own eyes.
"I was going to tell you—who I am, myself, Uncle Bond," he began lamely. "I was going to reveal my real identity at last. I was going to apologize to you for my deception, and ask for your—absolution.
"'I am, or rather was, until twelve noon today—the King! Now I am—on strike—taking a holiday—' That was to have been my first speech!"
Uncle Bond started, and shot a surprised glance at the King.
Engrossed in his own thoughts, and still fingering his wineglass nervously, the King did not notice the little man's movement.
"I hardly expected you to believe me. I did not see how you could possibly believe me," he went on. "I counted on astonishing you—astonishing you!—and Judith. I looked forward to astonishing you." He laughed contemptuously at himself. "I thought that your astonishment would be amusing. This was to have been my scene, not yours. That is partly why—I feel such a fool!"
He was silent for a moment or two.
Uncle Bond made no comment, but plied his knife and fork vigorously.