trouble a highly flavoured pipe, a
tinder-box, and a pouch containing a dried herb that appeared to be the
local substitute for tobacco were procured for him. However, a very
short experience convinced him that duty required him to put in an
appearance at the State Ball.

The Ball Room was a long, lofty hall, lit by thousands of candles set in
great golden hoops; the light they gave being multiplied almost to
infinity by the fact that the walls and ceiling were lined with
elaborately engraved looking-glass, which, fortunately perhaps for the
Queen, was dumb. When he entered, the musicians were already fiddling,
piping, and fluting in a gallery high up at one end facing a raised
platform, where his father and mother, looking extremely hot and
uncomfortable, were seated on gorgeous chairs. A stately measure was
being performed, which might have been a _gavotte_ or minuet or _pavane_
for anything he could say; all he knew was that the figures were quite
unfamiliar to him.

But Daphne seemed to have learnt them--or had they come to her by
instinct?--for she was dancing in one of the sets. He watched her
lissome form as she moved through the intricate evolutions till he began
to envy the Count von Daumerlingstamm, her elegant but undersized
partner. However, he flattered himself that he would have no difficulty
in cutting out little Daumerlingstamm.

It seemed to him that that dance would never be over, but the moment it
was, he made his way to Daphne with an air that showed he was fully
aware of the distinction he was conferring. "Enjoying yourself, Miss
Heritage?" he said. "Don't know what that last dance was--but not much
'vim' about it, if you ask _me_. Tell you what--I'll get those fiddler
fellows up there to play something a bit livelier, and you and I'll
show this crowd a two-step, what?"

"This is a great honour, your Royal Highness," said Daphne, after
sinking demurely in the regulation curtsey. "But I must not accept it
until I have her Majesty's permission." ("Which I'm quite sure she won't
give!" she thought to herself with much satisfaction.)

"Oh, I say--what rot! The Mater won't mind! And if she does----!"

"It would be very disagreeable for me, your Royal Highness!"

"Oh, well," he said, "I'll go and ask her."

As Daphne had anticipated, Queen Selina's refusal was most emphatic.
"You ought to know, Clarence, that it's utterly out of the question!"
she said. "And I'm surprised at Miss Heritage having