“If she carries on much more, I shall cut,” said the victim, gloomily.
“Beastly mean, if you do,” said Cyril. “The girl’s awfully gone on you. When I get her alone sometimes, and sing your praises to her, you should see how pleased she is. Don’t be a fool, old man. Any other chap would think himself in clover to have a smart, good-looking girl, and a princess too, in love with him to such an extent.”
“Well, I shall get thrown, then. That will stop the rides, at any rate.”
“Don’t, if you take my advice. She will insist on nursing you—rather like it than otherwise. As to your finding it a bore to go out with her——”
“I shouldn’t, if I wasn’t engaged to her,” groaned Caerleon.
“Oh, Lothario!” laughed Cyril, but he forbore to pursue the subject further. He was so highly delighted by the unexpected success of his diplomacy that he could afford to be generous. How the Princess had managed to draw Caerleon into the engagement he could not guess, but he was the last man in the world to quarrel with the accomplished fact. He could stand a good deal from Caerleon in these days, he told himself, taking credit for extraordinary forbearance towards a fellow who was as bad as a bear with a sore head. Why couldn’t he put a good face on it, as the Princess did? She had been obliged to discard her old love, but she didn’t let the fact spoil all her enjoyment of life—not she.
As will have been observed, Caerleon’s task was not made easier by his fiancée. Princess Ottilie saw the full comedy of the situation, where he perceived only its tragic irony, and she took a lively pleasure in emphasising the details of the plot. A born actress, no mere tame acceptance of facts would content her, and she played shamelessly to the gallery. Ordinary love-making was poor,—everything for her must be intense, and surcharged with meaning. She never left Caerleon alone. Loving epithets flowed from her lips in a way that made him feel that he must be blushing scarlet a dozen times a-day. She claimed his time and attention as a right, obliged him to assist her in the most incongruous tasks, made him turn over the pages of her music for her during what seemed interminable hours (she was a most accomplished musician), and appealed in an injured tone to Cyril, or the Queen, or the ladies-in-waiting, if he showed signs of fatigue or preoccupation. The general effect produced was that of a modern and substantial Titania wooing a singularly unresponsive clown, to the great edification of the beholders.
CHAPTER XIII.
PUNIC FAITH.
Matters came to a crisis on a certain dreadful evening when the Prince of Dardania, who was staying at one of his palaces a short distance on the other side of the frontier, dined at the castle. An invitation had been sent him, with what the King congratulated himself was a refinement of cruelty, that he might see with his own eyes how complete was the ruin of his hopes, and the scheme met with a success of which its originator had not dreamed. Whether through malice or through nervousness, Princess Ottilie overacted her part enormously that night, insomuch that she awakened doubts even in the mind of Prince Alexis, and thrilled Caerleon with a new horror. Perhaps she had changed her mind, and would after all refuse to release him,—and what would be his position in such a case? It comforted him to see that the Queen managed to exchange a few whispered words with the Prince, as he took his leave after an evening of chilling neglect, but he himself had an account to settle with Princess Ottilie. The next morning the pair had “words” in the conservatory, and Caerleon informed his fiancée succinctly that he had no intention of being used as an instrument of torture with which to harass Prince Alexis.
“If you try it on again, I shall simply make the whole thing known,” he said.