“Drakovics is certainly an original character. One never knows where to have him. And what—what—what did she say?”
“I think you may trust the Queen to protect herself when her dignity is assailed.” Cyril breathed more freely. “She expressed amazement at his entering upon such a subject with her, when it was obviously one in the discussion of which she could take no part. Any steps to which he might proceed must be taken entirely on his own responsibility, for it was impossible for her to express an opinion in the matter.”
“Bravo!” said Cyril, much relieved. “I was really afraid that Drakovics as the heavy father would get round her.”
“No; she has kept your secret, as you wished, although I think—I hope—you have little idea of the unhappiness it causes her. Is it necessary to be so cruel, Lord Cyril? ‘I dash myself up against him like the waves,’ she said to me, ‘and it makes no more impression on him than on a rock. My will is broken against his.’ Is it really impossible that you should be married before the King is of age?”
“Absolutely impossible,” returned Cyril.
“Do you mind telling me the reasons?”
“For her, that she would be leaving her son to the tender mercies of Drakovics; for me, that it would ruin my career.”
“I see; and you prefer your career to her?”
“Let us look at things on the lowest and most practical grounds, Princess. I am a younger son; five hundred a-year from my mother is all that I can call my own. Caerleon would do something for me, no doubt; but I don’t want to take his money. Can you in cold blood propose that the Queen and I should set up housekeeping on—say, at the best—a thousand a-year?”
“But she must have a jointure—money of her own, perhaps?”