they have done
themselves by that. I am convinced it was the fault of that gipsy
hat with the second ring of roses climbing over the crown. Ah, there
is Eitel--I shall be down presently. Go and entertain him! I hope
they met him coming through the park. He would be sure to scowl at
them!'

"Shall I tell you who Eitel is? Well, if you are nervous and
unaccustomed to shocks, sit down in the biggest and strongest chair
in the Bothy and take hold of both arms. There--one, two, three.
Shut your eyes and grip.

"Well, Eitel is a Prince, Prince Eitel of Altschloss, who wants to
marry me! There. Of course you will not believe it, and indeed, to
tell the truth, I hardly do either. But they all want me to--even
the dear Queen would be pleased. She said as much only yesterday. I
think she was sorry about having helped to stop Elsa marrying Uncle
Julian a long time ago.

"And the young man--well, he is a good soldier--has fought a lot
against Napoleon, and will fight again. To look at?--Oh, he is big
and round and rosy, with yellow moustaches and cheeks like apples,
nice plump red apples. He goes 'Hum-hem-hum' in his throat when he
speaks to me, and he always kisses my hand. Generally he calls me
'Most Noble Lady,' and then I wonder how many hundred yards I could
give him and beat him in a mile race along the sands. I daresay he
would be quite nice if I cared about princes--because he does not
swear all the time, nor gamble away his money with Hangers and
Beaujolais and suchlike cattle. Nor does he habitually get so drunk
that he has to be carried to bed. In his way he is quite a pattern
prince, and if I marry him I shall be the Perfect Princess! But
shall I? What do you advise? The Principality of Altschloss is not
large, but it is rich and the people are very well off and
contented, that is when 'Bony' lets them alone. So the Princess
says, and she knows all about it, for she lives, as it were, just up
the next street--I mean in the next Principality or Duchy or
whatever it is.

"They have got me into a corner, Stair, and here in London among
great folk I do not see how to get out. If it were only dodging them
among the pine of the Glenanmays woods or losing them among the
sand-dunes at the Abbey Burnfoot, my feet would trip as lightly as