“Your royal highness is attached to England?” she asked.
“I fear I was never there.... But I shall always remember I put my hair up when I was twelve years old because of the Prince of Wales.”
“Oh? And ... which of the Georges?” Lady Something gasped.
“It’s so long ago now that I really forget.”
“And pray, ma’am, what was the point of it?”
The Archduchess chuckled:
“Why, so as to look eligible of course!” she replied, returning to her knitting.
Amid the general flutter following the King’s appearance, it was easy enough for the Duchess of Varna to slip away. Knowing the palace inside out it was unnecessary to make any fuss. Passing through a long room, where a hundred holland-covered chairs stood grouped, Congresswise, around a vast table, she attained the Orangery, that gave access to the drive. The mellay of vehicles had considerably increased, and the Duchess paused a moment to consider which she should borrow, when recollecting she wished to question one of the royal gardeners on a little matter of mixing manure, she decided to return through the castle grounds instead. Taking a path that descended between rhododendrons and grim old cannons towards the town, she was comparing the capriciousness of certain bulbs to that of certain people, when she heard her name called from behind, and glancing round perceived the charming silhouette of the Countess of Tolga.
“I couldn’t stand it inside: Could you?”
“My dear, what a honeymoon hat!”