“You ain’t jokin’?” asked the bewildered Robert.
“Jokin’? Look ’ere, my lad—you ’ave cool cheek enough for the job—you ask ’is lordship ’imself whether ’e wasn’t King of Thracia for three months, and if ’e didn’t set on a throne and ’ave all the swells a-bowin’ down to ’im. ’E might ’ave married a real Princess if ’e’d liked, but she were a bad lot, and ’e knew it. Oh, there ain’t no doubt about ’is ’avin’ been King, though you mayn’t choose to believe it.”
“I ain’t a-goin’ for to contradick you, Mr Wright,” said Robert penitently. “And did Lord Cyril take on the kingdom after ’im?”
Wright snorted. “No; Lord Cyril ain’t never been King, nor won’t be,” he said. “’E was in Thracia with the Markiss, and made ’imself useful about the place—sort of general ’andy man, as you might say. Then when me and the Markiss gave up the job and come ’ome, ’e stayed on and done the same sort of business for the new King—Hotter George ’is name is.”
“But why did ’is lordship give up the job?” asked Robert, deeply interested. Wright looked mysterious.
“That were about the time as ’is lordship got married, my lad; and when there’s a lady concerned it ain’t for you nor yet for me to say why or wherefore in such a case.” This explanation did not explain much, and the impression it was calculated to convey was not by any means the correct one; but wild horses could not have dragged from Wright the confession that Lord Caerleon had left his Balkan kingdom as a prisoner, dethroned by a counterrevolution to that which had resulted in his being offered the crown. While Robert was meditating on his oracular utterance, Wright was looking ahead, and, just in time to prevent a further question which was trembling on the footman’s lips, he exclaimed—
“Why, there’s ’is lordship and Lady Phil comin’ along! You get down and ask Lord Cyril if ’e’d like to stop for them, Robert. They’ll be up with us before we get past the lodge.”
Robert obeyed, and Lord Cyril ordered him at once to wait. Stepping out of the carriage, the visitor stood watching the approaching riders, a tall man on a large chestnut horse, and a fair-haired little girl on a Shetland pony. They quickened their pace when they saw him.
“Why, Cyril, old man!” cried Lord Caerleon, “how did you get here? I thought we were not to expect you for a month or so yet?”
“I was able to get off earlier, after all. I’ll explain presently. Just now I should like to be introduced to my niece.”