So much for the introduction of the Princess. And now comes, of necessity, a gap in my story; for the next day I went to Switzerland on my annual holiday, and was absent from Southam Parva for two full months. Not seeing the English papers during most of that period, I was unable to learn whether Her Royal Highness Princess Vera of Boravia had proceeded from the Manor House, Southam Parva, to the Castle, Windsor, or anywhere else. II She had not, as a fact--and a fact which came to my knowledge even before I reached my own threshold. I stepped into the train at Liverpool Street, fat, brown, and still knickerbockered. In one corner of the carriage sat Thistleton, in another Charley Miles. “Not seen you for a day or two, old chap,” said the latter genially. I nodded and sat down opposite Thistleton, who welcomed my reappearance in a few well-chosen words. I reciprocated his civility with inquiries after his family, and finally, before taking up my paper, I added-- “And your distinguished visitor? The charming Princess? Have you any news of her?” At the same moment I happened to catch Charley’s eye. It was cocked at me in a distinctly satirical manner. For an instant I feared that the Princess had run off with the spoons, or annexed Mrs Thistleton’s garnets (we all knew them) to enrich the Boravian diadem. But after the briefest pause--which was a pause, all the same--Thistleton answered-- “She is still with us, and very well indeed, thank you.” He cleared his throat, opened _The Globe_, and said no more. Charley’s eye drew me with an irresistible attraction; it was still cocked at me over the top of the _Evening News_. But he made no remark, so I fell back on my own organ of opinion, and silence was unbroken until we had passed the station immediately before Beechington--we alight (as the Company puts it) at Beechington for Southam Parva. Then, when there were just three minutes left, Thistleton glanced at Charley, saw that he was busy with his paper (the “racing” corner unless I’m mistaken), leant forward and tapped my knee with his gold eyeglasses. I started slightly and accorded him my attention. There seemed to be a little embarrassment in his manner. “By the way, Tregaskis,” he said, “you remember I told you that I was engaged on certain--er--delicate negotiations on behalf of our guest?” I nodded. “About Her Royal Highness’s private fortune?” He nodded. “They involve,” he proceeded, “approaches to the present King in--er--an amicable spirit--more or less amicable. We have thought it well that for the present--provisionally and without prejudice--Her Highness should employ a designation to which her claim is absolutely beyond dispute. By a disuse--temporary, perhaps--of her proper style, she may smooth certain--er--susceptibilities, and so render my task easier and give us a better prospect of success. Our guest now prefers to be known as the Countess Vera von Friedenburg.”