“The wedding will lead to war, undoubtedly.”
“Why should it? If I don’t feel myself insulted by the Princess’s way of leading up to it, I don’t see why any one else should.”
“Thracia won’t see things in the same light, though. The whole nation has been insulted in your person, and, furthermore, cheated into giving up territory without a return. Nothing but blood will wash out the remembrance.”
“But I will explain the whole thing to everybody.”
“Do. Who do you think will believe you? No one will imagine that a sane man could make such an utter and irretrievable idiot of himself. It will simply be thought that you are trying to shield the girl. No; all you can do is to keep your mouth shut. Look here,” Cyril was struck by a sudden inspiration, “Will you leave Drakovics and me to put things straight?”
“If you think you can do it better without me,” replied Caerleon pacifically, overlooking his brother’s uncomplimentary language in consideration of the provocation he had received. “But mind, on your honour, there must be no more meddling with marriages and engagements. If I hear so much as a whisper of such a thing, I will repudiate all your negotiations, and take the management of affairs into my own hands.”
“No fear. After this job has turned out so badly, I shall not take up the matrimonial agency business again in a hurry. I only want to have you out of the way, because I am afraid that King Johann will get round you. Go and kill your were-wolf, can’t you? and be a benefit to society.”
“I’d go like a shot, all the more that I shan’t have to bring her the skin; but don’t you think it would look rather bad—rather unfeeling, you know?”
“I think you are the most exasperating idiot I ever had to do with,” returned Cyril, hopelessly. “Don’t you see that it will look worse for you to be hanging about here with that face on? Go and be alone with nature and your grief—or, in plain English, go and grin where no one can see you.”
“All right,” said Caerleon, with a laugh. “May I have breakfast first?”