“Very well,” sighed Cyril. “I suppose if you will make an ass of yourself, you must. We are to arrange, then, for a personal interview, in the course of which you will, in so many words, refuse to marry Princess Ottilie?”
“There’s no occasion to do anything so rude. I shall simply tell her the truth, and leave it to her to refuse me. Or I’ll write to her. Yes, that’s much the best plan. It will save time and a lot of difficulty.”
“But you can’t!” cried Cyril, with his hand on the door. “Do you mean to write to a girl who hasn’t even accepted you, and tell her you won’t marry her? No, you must see her, as you say, and explain things. I’ll manage to get you an interview somehow, though it’s against my better judgment.”
“Be quick, then,” cried Caerleon after him, as he went out, “for if there’s any delay, I shall write to her myself.”
CHAPTER XI.
A DELICATE NEGOTIATION.
“Well?” asked M. Drakovics, anxiously, when Cyril appeared in his office. “How did his Majesty receive the news?”
“As badly as you could wish. He won’t hear of marrying Princess Ottilie, and wanted to telegraph his views at once to Eusebia. However, I have got him to consent to see the lady, so that the honour of refusing him may rest with her, and if we play our cards well, that ought to give us all we want.”
“How?” asked M. Drakovics, quickly.
“It will gain us time and a favourable impression, and if we can once succeed in separating Scythia and Pannonia, we ought certainly to be able to prevent their coming together again.”
“Undoubtedly we ought to be able to manage that. But how do you propose to bring about a coolness between them?”