“Then I congratulate the Thracians,” said Madame O’Malachy, heartily. “My dear marquis (you really must excuse my employing the old title), I have seldom heard a more delightful piece of news. The Thracians could not do better, and for yourself it is a situation exactly adapted to your character and talents. You have your opportunity now.”
“I thought so myself until a minute ago,” said Caerleon, gloomily; “but now I begin to doubt it. Nadia will have nothing to say to me.”
“Nadia—my daughter?” with a slight elevation of the eyebrows.
“Yes,” said Caerleon, scarcely noticing the touch of hauteur which the lady had infused into her tone. “She seemed so much disappointed about my having refused the crown before that I thought she would certainly be pleased now, and she—she spoke as if she had never met me before in her life.”
“But that may be quite as well,” returned Madame O’Malachy, gracefully determined not to be baulked of her point. “You must remember that the friendship à l’anglaise which has subsisted hitherto between your Majesty and my daughter cannot continue under present circumstances. You will now occupy very different positions.”
“Is that what Miss O’Malachy is thinking?” asked Caerleon, quickly.
“I have not spoken to her on the subject, but I have no doubt that she has that in her mind.”
“Then might I beg that you will have the kindness to let me see her again at once, madame? I will do my best to disabuse her of the idea.”
“But what will you do, my dear marquis?”
“Ask her to share the throne with me.”