Part 30 (1/2)

”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 d.i.c.kens, 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 been right about her feeling, that she really did not like the idea of the marriage.

Konrad Karl took her by the hand and led her into the palace.

The Queen was still sitting in the stern of the boat. Since Madame Ypsilante fell into Konrad Karl's arms the Queen had turned her back on the landing slip and gazed steadily out to sea. Only when the sound of their footsteps made her sure that her guests were going into the palace did she venture to look round cautiously.

”It's all right,” said Gorman. ”You can come on sh.o.r.e.”

He held out his hand to her.

”And do tell me,” he said, ”where you found her. She looked to me rather as if she had been washed up some time yesterday and had spent last night in a cave.”

”Who is she?” said the Queen.

”Her name,” said Gorman, ”is Ypsilante, Madame Corinne Ypsilante.”

”She told me that much. But I want to know what is she?”

The question was an awkward one to answer. Gorman did the best he could.

”A friend of the King's,” he said.

”Well,” said the Queen. ”He'll be able to marry her now. The poor thing was in dreadful distress. She thought he was going to marry me.

And she's engaged to him. She told me so herself.”

I am sure that Gorman did not smile; but there must have been a twinkle in his eyes which betrayed him. The Queen is extremely quick at reading such signs. She turned on him sharply.

”Aren't they engaged to be married?” she asked.