A ROYAL INTERVIEW.
"Someone to see you, Miss."
Thus Mary at about nine o'clock on an April evening at the door of my tiny sitting-room.
There was a strange little quiver in her voice.
Mary is so extremely well trained, and so accustomed, moreover, to queer visitors at the flat, that I looked up in surprise.
"Yes?" I said. "Is it a lady?"
Mary did not reply immediately; she seemed half-dazed.
"Is it a lady?" I repeated a little sharply. My usually imperturbable parlourmaid appeared to have taken leave of her senses.
"She said she was a queen, Miss," she gasped.
At that moment the visitor, evidently grown tired of waiting, calmly floated in through the half-open door and settled down gracefully in the centre of a large gold cushion lying on the end of the Chesterfield.