In spite of his antipathy to the O’Malachys, he kept his place on the balcony and waved a farewell to the travellers, watching the carriage as it wound round the curves of the rough mountain road until it was finally out of sight, when he went back into the coffee-room to join Caerleon and M. Drakovics, who were discussing the question of the costume in which the new King was to make the journey to his capital. Evening dress and a tall hat formed M. Drakovics’s idea of the clothes suitable to the occasion; but Wright, who was assisting uninvited at the discussion, and who bore a grudge already against the Premier for inducing Caerleon to remain in Thracia, flatly declined to “make a tomfool” of his master by helping him to don a swallow-tail coat in the daytime. Caerleon himself thought it would be the proper thing to adopt the Thracian national dress, as a delicate compliment to the people; but M. Drakovics objected to this on the ground that the Thracians were expecting an Englishman, and would be disappointed if they found him dressed like themselves. “Will your Majesty not wear your uniform?” he asked, offering another suggestion in his turn. “That of your Volunteer cavalry, I mean?” “My Yeomanry uniform?” said Caerleon. “I haven’t got it here. In fact, I should have no right to wear it any longer if I had, for I resigned my commission before I left home, because the expenses connected with the troop were too much for me to meet in my present circumstances.” “But your uniform’s ’ere, all the same, my lord,” said Wright. “If your lordship remembers, it was sent on with the ’eavy luggage before the troop was decided to be given up, in case there was any grand doin’s while your lordship were at the castle,” and he nodded vaguely in the direction which he imagined to be that of Château Temeszy. “Oh, well, if you’ve got it, you may as well wear it, Caerleon,” said Cyril. “It’s only a cast-off now, after all, and if Ceylon coolies and African chiefs are allowed to sport discarded British uniforms, I don’t see why the King of Thracia shouldn’t.” “Your comparisons are not exactly flattering to Thracia,” said Caerleon, “and I don’t think it’s quite the thing to sport the old uniform under the circumstances. Ordinary riding-togs are the best thing for a long ride like this, and if it’s absolutely necessary, one can add a top hat and a black coat before entering Bellaviste;” and to this decision he adhered, in spite of the Premier’s remonstrances and of Cyril’s jeers.