“Yes, Willie? I’ve a hundred head-aches. What is it?”
“Both King Geo and Queen Glory, are wondering where you are.”
“Oh, really, Willie?”
“And dear Elsie’s asking after you too.”
“Very likely,” the Queen returned with quiet complaisance, “but unfortunately, I have neither her energy, or,” she murmured with a slightly sardonic laugh, “her appetite!”
The Countess of Tolga tittered.
“She called for fried-eggs and butcher’s-meat, this morning, about the quarter before eight,” she averred.
“An excellent augury for our dynasty,” the King declared, reposing the eyes of an adoring grandparent upon an alabaster head of a Boy attributed to Donatello.
“She’s terribly foreign, Willie...! Imagine ham and eggs ...” the Queen dropped her face to her hand.
“So long as the Royal-House——” The King broke off, turning gallantly to raise the Countess d’Omptyda, who had sunk with a gesture of exquisite allegiance to the floor.