“Exactly,” said Ted.
“Well, of course I can't refuse to do that much; but up at Windsor, you know, they think you are off on a driving trip, and are wondering that you don't write.”
“There's nothing to wonder at in that,” Ted answered a little sadly; “Harold knows I've never been in the habit of writing, or of doing some other things, for that matter, that might perhaps have been expected of me.”
“Yes, I know,” was Donald's frank answer; “it's an awful pity.”
“'Nough said, my young friend,” remarked Harry, and fearing what next might follow, marched him out of the room with a “Now be on your guard, young man, and be sure and remember your promise.”
CHAPTER XIII.—MADAME LA GRANDE REINE.
