r Majesty?" said the Countess anxiously. "There
was a point in our conversation yesterday about which I was not quite
certain----"

"What _were_ we talking about yesterday?"

"Oh, your Majesty," said the Countess, "affairs of state," and she
gave him that wicked, innocent, impudent, and entirely scandalous look
which he never could resist, and you couldn't either for that matter.

"Affairs of state, of course," smiled the King.

"Why, I made a special note of it in my diary."

She laid down the enormous volume and turned lightly over the pages.

"Here we are! '_Thursday._ His Majesty did me the honour to consult
me about the future of his daughter, the Princess Hyacinth. Remained
to tea and was very----' I can't quite make this word out."

"Let _me_ look," said the King, his rubicund face becoming yet more
rubicund. "It looks like 'charming,'" he said casually.

"Fancy!" said Belvane. "Fancy my writing that! I put down just what
comes into my head at the time, you know." She made a gesture with
her hand indicative of some one who puts down just what comes into her
head at the time, and returned to her diary. "'Remained to tea, and
was very charming. Mused afterwards on the mutability of life!'" She
looked up at him with wide-open eyes. "I often muse when I'm alone,"
she said.

The King still hovered over the diary.

"Have you any more entries like--like that last one? May I look?"

"Oh, your Majesty! I'm afraid it's _quite_ private." She closed the
book quickly.

"I just thought I saw some poetry," said the King.

"Just a little ode to a favourite linnet. It wouldn't interest your
Majesty."

"I adore poetry," said the King, who had himself written a rhymed
couplet which could be said either forwards or backwards, and in the
latter position was useful for removing enchantments. According to
the eminent historian, Roger Scurvilegs, it had some vogue in Euralia
and went like this:

"_Bo, boll, bill, bole._
_Wo, woll, will, wole._"

A pleasing idea, temperately expressed.

The Countess, of course, was only pretending. Really she was longing
to read it. "It's quite a little thing," she said.

"_Hail to thee, blithe linnet,_
_Bird thou clearly art,_
_That from bush or in it_
_Pourest thy full heart!_
_And leads the feathered choir in song_
_Taking the treble part._"

"Beautiful," said