o
close to the shore, and see the Channel ships a-sailing--three-masted
schooners laden with wood; fishing-smacks; London barges with their
picturesque red sails bellying in the wind; and an occasional ocean
liner trailing its black smoke across the horizon. What with the sea
and the gardens and the rich history of the place, Mary Alice felt that
she could never tire of it, even if she did not see the King. But it
would be delightful to see him, too. Some day the history of this
splendid old place would include this royal visit; and Mary Alice, who
had read of other such occasions and wished she might have been a mouse
in a corner to witness them--as, for instance, when Queen Elizabeth was
here--now felt the thrill of having that wish come true, in a way; and
so far from feeling "set aside" or slighted, liked her window in the
wing and her participation in the party above any other she might have
had.

Mary Alice dined, the first night of the house party, with the
Duchess's older children, and then went back to her room to sit at the
window and look down on the terraces where, after a while, some of the
men guests came to smoke.

It was late, but the twilight still lingered. Mary Alice could not
tell who many of the men were, but she could see the King and she
watched him interestedly as he paced up and down. She had been told
how no one must speak to a king until the king has first spoken to him;
and she felt that at best it must be a dreary business--being a king.

Presently, though, in the thickening shadows she saw a form that made
her heart stand still. _Could it be_? She was probably
mistaken--madly mistaken--but something in the way a man down there
carried himself made her think of Godmother's little drawing-room in
far-off New York and a man who was "playing the game." But the King
was talking to this man--talking most interestedly, it seemed. She
_must_ be mistaken!

Nevertheless, when the men had all gone in, she put on a white shawl
and slipped down on to the terrace. She felt as if she must know; and
of course she couldn't ask, for she did not know his name.

The terraces were deserted, and she paced up and down undisturbed,
trying to assure herself that Godmother would probably have known if he
were in England--his last letter had been from the Far East--and
especially if he were coming here. There were times, as she reminded
herself, when she was continually seeing him; out of every crowd