“The trouble is,” said Gorman, “that the dentist won’t forgive either. He’s talking of a thousand pounds damage.” Madame’s face softened. “If he will pay a thousand pounds--” she said. “It is not much. It is not enough. Still, if he pays at once----” “You’ve got it wrong,” said Gorman. “He thinks you ought to pay. He’s going to law about it.” “Law!” said Madame. “Pouf! What is your law? I spit at it. It is to laugh at, the law.” The king took a different view. He knew by painful experience something about law, chiefly that part of the law which deals with the relations of creditor and debtor. He was seriously alarmed at what Gorman said. “Alas, Corinne,” he said, “in Megalia, yes. But in England, no. The English law is to me a black beast. With the law I am always the escaping goat who does not escape. Gorman, I love your England. But there is, as you say, a shift in the flute. In England there is too much law. Do not, do not let the dentist go to law. Rather would I----” “I will not pay,” said Madame. “Corinne,” said the king reproachfully, “would I ask it? No. But if the dentist seeks revenge I will submit. He may kick me.” “That’s rot of course,” said Gorman. “It wouldn’t be the slightest satisfaction to Scarsby to kick you. What I was going to suggest----” “Good!” said the king. “Right-O! O.K.! Put it there. You suggest. Always, Gorman, you suggest, and when you suggest, it is all over except to shout.” “I don’t know about that,” said Gorman. “My plan may not work, and anyway you won’t like it. It’s not an agreeable plan at all. The only thing to be said for it is that it’s better than paying or having any more kicking. You’ll have to put yourself in my hands absolutely.” “Gorman, my friend,” said the king, “I go in your hands. In both hands or in one hand. Rather than be plaintiff-defendant I say, ‘Gorman, I will go in your pocket.’” “In your hands,” said Madame, “or in your arms. Sir Gorman, I trust you. I give you my Konrad into your hands. I fling myself into your arms if you wish it.” “I don’t wish it in the least,” said Gorman. “In fact it will complicate things horribly if you do.” Three days later Gorman called on Dane-Latimer at his office. “I think,” he said, “that I’ve got that little trouble between Madame Ypsilante and the dentist settled up all right.” “Are you sure?” said Dane-Latimer. “Scarsby is still in a furious temper. At least he was the day before yesterday. I haven’t seen him since then.” “You won’t see him again,” said Gorman. “He has completely climbed down.” “How the deuce did you manage it?” Gorman drew a heavy square envelope from his breast pocket and handed it to Dane-Latimer. “That’s for you,” he said, “and if you really want to understand how the case was settled you’d better accept the invitation and come with me.” Dane-Latimore opened the envelope and drew out a large white card with gilt edges and nicely rounded corners.