The arrival of Baron von Neuburg, otherwise King Michael of Thracia, did not add to the gaiety of the circle at the Castle. Scarcely more than a boy in years, his face was so curiously old that not only Usk but his father looked young beside him, and his manner was weary almost to the point of exhaustion.
“I don’t take much stock in kings generally,” Félicia remarked to Usk after the new-comer had been presented to her; “but for the sake of the rest I hope this one’s a bad sample.”
“He’s not a particularly good specimen, certainly. Aren’t his ways awfully riling?”
“Yes,” agreed Félicia; “that’s where the difference comes in between him and your uncle. Lord Cyril is just elegant. He has dipped into everything, and got pretty tired, but he don’t advertise the fact. The Baron has done it too, and parades his weariness, and that’s rude.”
“I’m glad you don’t care for him,” said Usk honestly. “He’s not—not the sort of fellow I should like to see you take to.”
“Don’t you know that by saying that you’re just daring me to be as sweet to him as I know how?”
“Oh, I know people say that sort of thing about women, but no nice woman would go and make up to a man of bad character simply because she was warned against him.”
“Then I’m a nice woman? Well, I guess you’ll expect me do something for you in return for that acknowledgment, and I’d admire to teach the Baron a lesson.”
“Not by way of breaking his heart, please.”
“Not while you’re around, any way. But I’d like to have him know what folks would think of him if he didn’t just happen to be a king.”