The ideal King has a careworn look, he rules, he has to do things, but the ideal Queen is radiant happiness, tall and sweetly dignified, simply she has to be things. And when at last towards midday Queen Madeleine dispelled the clouds of the morning and came shining back into the world that waited outside her door, she was full of thankfulness for herself and for the empire that was given her. She knew she was a delicious and wonderful thing, she knew she was well done, her hands, the soft folds of her dress as she held it up, the sweep of her hair from her forehead pleased her, she lifted her chin but not too high for the almost unenvious homage in the eyes of the housemaid on the staircase. Her descent was well timed for the lunch gathering of the hotel guests; there was “_Ah!_—here she comes at last!” and there was her own particular court out upon the verandah before the entrance, Geedge and the Professor and Mrs. Bowles—and Mrs. Geedge coming across the lawn,—and the lover? She came on down and out into the sunshine. She betrayed no surprise. The others met her with flattering greetings that she returned smilingly. But the lover—? He was not there! It was as if the curtain had gone up on almost empty stalls. He ought to have been worked up and waiting tremendously. He ought to have spent the morning in writing a poem to her or in writing a delightful poetical love letter she could carry away and read or in wandering alone and thinking about her. He ought to be feeling now like the end of a vigil. He ought to be standing now, a little in the background and with that pleasant flush of his upon his face and that shy, subdued, reluctant look that was so infinitely more flattering than any boldness of admiration. And then she would go towards him, for she was a giving type, and hold out both hands to him, and he, as though he couldn’t help it, in spite of all his British reserve, would take one and hesitate—which made it all the more marked—and kiss it.... Instead of which he was just not there.... No visible disappointment dashed her bravery. She knew that at the slightest flicker Judy and Mrs. Geedge would guess and that anyhow the men would guess nothing. “I’ve rested,” she said, “I’ve rested delightfully. What have you all been doing?” Judy told of great conversations, Mr. Geedge had been looking for trout in the stream, Mrs. Geedge with a thin little smile said she had been making a few notes and—she added the word with deliberation—“observations,” and Professor Bowles said he had had a round of golf with the Captain. “And he lost?” asked Madeleine. “He’s careless in his drive and impatient at the greens,” said the Professor modestly. “And then?” “He vanished,” said the Professor, recognizing the true orientation of her interest. There was a little pause and Mrs. Geedge said, “You know—” and stopped short. Interrogative looks focussed upon her. “It’s so odd,” she said. Curiosity increased.