"Hi fawncies you 're sife, your Majesty," said he.
"Agreeable intelligence, I must admit," sighed the Prince, assuming an easier position. "My subjects possess the virtue of persistence."
"Yessir, they dearly loves to club a swell cove hif they think 'ee his arfter their lydies."
Steps sounded in the hallway and the Prince rose quietly to his feet, prepared to renew the struggle.
"Don't be halarmed, your Tghness," said Buster, reassuringly. "Hit's only Mr. Moore returning."
"Do not acquaint him with my presence," said Wales. "I will make myself known when I think best."
"Yes, your 'Ighness."
The Prince stepped behind the curtain separating the poet's bedchamber from the sitting-room and there awaited developments in silence. Moore opened the door and ushered in Mr. Dyke.
"I thought Bessie was here," he said in surprise as he noted her absence.
"Mistress Dyke went down to hinterview Mrs. Malone, sir," explained Buster, in a quandary as to how he should act. A prince, of course, could not be lightly disobeyed, but at the same time he felt qualms at the thought of what his master, not suspecting the presence of royalty, might chance to say.