n flung
the end of it into the sea.

"Gorman," he said, "what is it that your great English poet had so
beautifully said? 'If you were the only girl in the world and I were
the only boy.' That is Corinne and me. 'A garden of Eden just made for
two.' That is Paris. I have always admired the English poets. It is
so true, what they say."

He gazed out across the bay as he spoke. The sun was setting. The
water was exquisitely calm. It was a moment for the most luscious
sentiment. Even Gorman, to whom sentiment is an abhorrent kind of
indecency, felt uncomfortable.

A small boat slipped round the southern headland of the bay. She was
rowing fast. The King jumped to his feet suddenly. He pointed to the
boat. He waved his arms wildly.

"Buck up," he shouted, "it is--I will eat my hat--it is Corinne! She
comes to me!"

"Nonsense," said Gorman. "That's Miss Donovan's boat. She's coming
home for dinner. Sit down and don't get excited."

"I am sorry," said the King, "but I cannot. It is impossible for me to
keep on my hair when Corinne is coming."

"Corinne isn't coming," said Gorman. "How could she?"

"I see her. I see her. The dickens, and Great Jupiter, my eyes see
her."

"You can't tell one woman from another at that distance. What you see
is either Miss Donovan or Kalliope."

The boat drew rapidly nearer. Gorman stared at her.

"There _are_ three women," he said. "I wonder who the other is."

"Corinne. Corinne," said the King.

To Gorman's amazement the King was right. The boat reached the
landing steps. In her were the Queen, Kalliope and a very dishevelled
Madame Ypsilante. That lady was never, at any time of her life, an
outdoor woman. When she travelled it was in the wagons-lits of
trains-de-luxes, and in specially reserved cabins of steamers. Her
journey to Salissa had been performed in far less luxurious ways and
her appearance had suffered. Her complexion was streaky. Her hair
straggled about a good deal, and several damp-looking locks hung like
thick bootlaces around her face. Her dress was crumpled and had two
large patches of dirt on it. But all this made no difference to the
King. He folded her in his arms and kissed her directly she got out of
the boat.

"Corinne," he said, "now I shall be no longer sad."

Madame returned his kisses with vigour.

"My Konrad," she said, "and you are not married after all."

It was that remark, her greeting to the King, which made Gorman feel
sure that he had