"But father wasn't intelligent," explained Isabel, "not in the least little bit. He was just obstinate. He was quite certain he ought to be a king, and you know when you are quite certain about a thing yourself, however silly it is, there are always lots of others who will agree with you." She paused. "Besides," she went on, "after the old King died and Pedro's father came to the throne, things were quite different in Livadia. The taxes went on going up and up, and the country kept on getting poorer and poorer, until at last a certain number of people began to wonder whether it wouldn't be better to have a change. I don't think they thought much of father. I suppose they just felt he couldn't be worse anyhow."
"I like your historical sense, Isabel," observed Tony. "It's so free from prejudice."
Isabel accepted the compliment with perfect simplicity. "You see I knew father," she said frankly. "He would have made a very bad king; he was always getting intoxicated."
Tony nodded. "Nearly all exiled monarchs are addicted to drink. They find it necessary to keep up their enthusiasm."
"But it wasn't only a question of drinking in father's case," went on Isabel. "People wouldn't have minded that very much; you see they are so used to it in Livadia. It was the way he quarrelled with everyone afterwards that spoilt his chances. At one time he had almost as big a following as the King, but after a bit most of them gave him up as hopeless. Then someone started the idea of a Republic. It was quite a small party at first, but people drifted into it gradually from both sides until in the end it was the strongest of the three. Father wouldn't give up for a long time. He was a frightfully obstinate man, and I don't think he knew what it meant to be afraid. That was one of his best points. He kept on until nearly everyone who stuck to him had been killed, and then at last he got badly wounded himself, and only just managed to escape over the frontier."
"And what were you doing all this crowded time?" inquired Tony.
"I," said Isabel, "oh, I was living in Paris with my governess, Miss Watson."
"What—the missing lady of Long Acre?"
Isabel nodded. "She looked after me for fifteen years. You see, father had spent a good deal of time in London when he was young, and he always said that English women were the only ones you could trust because they were so cold. So when my mother died, he engaged Miss Watson and put me in her charge altogether."
"Judging by the results," observed Tony, "it seems to have been a happy choice."