“Sir ... Sir!” she faltered in confusion, seeking with fervent lips her Sovereign’s hand.
“What is she doing, Willie?”
“Begging for Strawberry-leaves!” the Countess of Tolga brilliantly commented.
“Apropos of Honours ... it appears King Geo has signified his intention of raising his present representative in Pisuerga to the peerage.”
“After her recent Cause, Lady Something should be not a little consoled.”
“She was at the début of the new diva, little Miss Hellvellyn (the foreign invasion has indeed begun!), at the Opera-House last night, so radiant....”
“When she cranes forward out of her own box to smile at someone into the next, I can’t explain ... but one feels she ought to hatch,” the Queen murmured, repairing capriciously from one couch to another.
“We neglect our guests, my dear,” the King expostulatingly exclaimed, bending over his consort anxiously from behind.
“Tell me, Willie,” she cooed, caressing the medals upon his breast, and drawing him gently down: “tell me? Didst thou enjoy thy cigar, dear, with King Geo?”
“I can recall in my time, Child, a suaver flavour....”