“10 Beaulieu Gardens, S.W.” he read. “Mrs. J. de Montford Scarsby. At Home, Thursday, June 24, 9 to 11. To have the honour of meeting His Majesty the King of Megalia. R.S.V.P.” “The king,” said Gorman, “is going in his uniform as Field Marshal of the Megalian Army. It took me half an hour to persuade him to do that, and I don’t wonder. It’s a most striking costume--light blue silk blouse, black velvet gold-embroidered waistcoat, white corded breeches, immense patent leather boots, a gold chain as thick as a cable of a small yacht with a dagger at the end of it, and a bright red fur cap with a sham diamond star in front. The poor man will look an awful ass, and feel it. I wouldn’t have let him in for the uniform if I could possibly have helped it, but that brute Scarsby was as vindictive as a red Indian and as obstinate as a swine. His wife could do nothing with him at first. She came to me with tears and said she’d have to give up the idea of entertaining the king at her party if his coming depended on Scarsby’s withdrawing his action against Madame Ypsilante. I told her to have another try and promised her he’d come in uniform if she succeeded. That induced her to tackle her husband again. I don’t know how she managed it, but she did. Scarsby has climbed down and doesn’t even ask for an apology. I advise you to come to the party.” “Will Madame Ypsilante be there?” “I hope not,” said Gorman. “I shall persuade her to stay at home if I can. I don’t know whether Scarsby will show up or not; but it’s better to take no risks. She might kick him again.” “What I was wondering,” said Dane-Latimer, “was whether she’d kick me. She might feel that she ought to get a bit of her own back out of the plaintiff’s solicitor. I’m not a tall man. She could probably reach my face, and I don’t want to have Scarsby mending up my teeth afterwards.” “My impression is,” said Gorman, “that Mrs. Scarsby would allow anyone to kick her husband up and down Piccadilly if she thought she’d be able to entertain royalty afterwards. I don’t think she ever got higher than a Marquis before. By the way, poor Konrad Karl is to have a throne at the end of her drawing-room, and I’m to present her. You really ought to come, Dane-Latimer.” XII. A COMPETENT MECHANIC