“She shrank from hurting my feelings by saying that we ought not to be seen alone together,” he reflected, “so she sends me off on an imaginary errand. What have I done to make her credit me with such delicate sensibilities?”
It was not without the exercise of strong moral suasion that he was able to induce the little King to leave the fascinating neighbourhood of the goats; and they only reached the house at the same time as the three people whom Cyril had noticed, and who proved to be Fräulein von Staubach, Princess Anna Mirkovics, a pale, plain girl who cherished a romantic attachment for the Queen, and the gamekeeper, who carried a large bundle done up in a wrapper. Princess Anna was evidently ill at ease. She remained at the foot of the steps while Fräulein von Staubach went up them to seek the Queen, and stood looking the picture of misery, twisting her fingers nervously together. Even when the Queen stepped out on the verandah, she made no attempt to approach, looking up at her with tearful eyes.
“Anna!” said the Queen in astonishment, “what is the matter? Am I so much altered that my own friends do not know me?”
“Oh no, no, dearest madame!” cried the girl, fairly sobbing. “It is only—how can I dare to approach you in this dress?” and she pointed to the Thracian costume she was wearing.
“Prince Mirkovics will not allow any but the national dress to be worn on his estates, madame,” explained Fräulein von Staubach. “Princess Anna was obliged to leave all her European dresses at her aunt’s house before she came home.”
“And I have nothing but a Thracian dress to bring for you, madame,” sobbed Anna; “but indeed it is not my fault—nor my father’s either, since he could not tell that you would be coming here.”
“Why, you foolish Anna!” said the Queen, half-laughing, “am I such an ogress that you are afraid to approach me? Come here at once. I have worn a Thracian dress for days, and it is most comfortable, and not, I think, unbecoming. Your father is a very sensible man to insist upon it. Now leave off crying, or I shall think you are sorry to see me. Ah, Count, I see you are laughing, because you remember how foolish I used to be about things Thracian. Surely you will allow that I have been punished for my fault; and may I not learn wisdom from the punishment?”
“Madame, I would not venture to suggest that any action of yours deserved punishment,” returned Cyril, as Princess Anna looked up in surprise at the friendly tone in which the Queen addressed him, “although I may rejoice over the change in your opinions. Is it your Majesty’s pleasure that I should now leave you in order to inform Prince Mirkovics of your presence here?”
“By all means,” said the Queen; but Anna Mirkovics added a frightened “Pray be careful, Count,” which showed him that his mission would hardly be a very easy one. He did not dwell on the thought, however, as he set out along the road which the gamekeeper showed him, for his mind turned naturally to his own affairs. Making use of a power on which he was wont to pride himself not a little, he set to work to isolate his affections from the rest of his personality, much as a chemical investigator isolates a new element, and to look at them from a distance, as he had done on that night in the forest. The result of his observations was not very flattering.
“You are a nice moral young man, Cyril Mortimer,” he told himself. “Somehow or other you have tricked that poor little woman into handing you over her heart in exchange for the shabby second-hand article which is all you have to offer; and yet you won’t give up a dirty portfolio for her, though she is willing to risk her crown for you. The fact is, you are a cad, and if Caerleon were here, he would say you ought to be kicked. He might even go so far as to do it. But the worst part of the whole sad affair, as the good people would call it, is that you don’t intend to reform. You had rather be a cad than a fool. And therefore, since you have come to that practical conclusion, just leave off gassing about your caddishness.”