I had not seen Queen Maud in her kingdom until I went to Norway in the autumn of 1913, and I wondered whether her rise from the rank of mere “Royal Highness” to that of a “Majesty” would have altered or spoilt her. She was staying at a little château near Christiania when I arrived in the city, and she asked me to come out and have luncheon with her. When a royal carriage arrived at my hotel to take me to the country, and I noticed that the servants wore plain, dark liveries, instead of the regal scarlet, I began to feel that the charming Maud had not changed. Half an hour’s drive brought me to the château, and as the Queen welcomed me I felt ashamed of the suspicions I had entertained, and realised that she remains the same simple and unaffected girl I used to know in England. “I’m so glad you’ve come,” she said, and as she spoke I heard in her voice and saw in her manner the charm she has inherited from her mother, Queen Alexandra. The château is a small house of one story, standing in a public park. A plot of ground has been railed off round the house, so that the King and Queen may have a garden in which they can enjoy privacy. Not that they are annoyed, like most kings and queens, with demonstrative manifestations of loyalty. The Norwegians contrive to make life agreeable for the Royal Family by allowing them to go about the countryside or through the streets of the capital as freely as ordinary citizens. Queen Maud revels in her new liberty. “I find it so nice to be able to go out shopping without any fuss,” she said, and told me that she could go into a shop in Christiania without anybody taking any notice of her, buy what she wanted, and leave with her parcels tucked under her arm to walk back to the palace. I could understand her delight better than most people, for in Madrid I have experienced the misery of knowing that I can not get in or out of a carriage without attracting a small crowd. To find oneself perpetually a public show is beyond words exasperating. Queen Maud’s Court consists of two ladies-in-waiting and a Grand Mistress, a suite which is no larger than that of the least important of the numerous Austrian archduchesses. And, moreover, these ladies do not make deferential curtsies to Her Majesty. The Queen shakes hands with them when she meets them, and treats them, not as glorified servants, but as friends. The point may appear trivial, but it is worth mentioning, for it shows with what tact a princess, accustomed to the etiquette and the splendour of the English Court, has adapted herself to the spirit of a democratic people. “You were perfectly right,” she said to me, “in what you used to tell me about the happiness of simplicity.” “Of course I was right,” I said, “and I do not believe you would care to go back to the old Court life.” “I am much happier in this life,” she said, and then it was that she told me how glad she was to be Queen of a country in which everybody loves simplicity.