It was a strange meal, the strangest of the many strange meals which the King had known. The two parts which he had kept distinct for so long seemed now, somehow, suddenly to blend, to mingle, without any difficulty. He was Alfred, the sailor, again. And yet, he was--the King-- With the Imps at the table, there was no lack of conversation. Once they had finished their porridge, the Imps were free to talk. They talked. To each other. To themselves. To anybody. To nobody in particular. A lengthy dialogue between Bill, and a wholly invisible small boy called John, who had, apparently, a regrettable habit of grabbing his food, seemed to appeal, in particular, to the Duke, who entered into the play, with an imaginative readiness which the King had somehow never suspected. The birds called cheerily from the garden. The whir of the haycutting machines was audible once again; but they were not so near the house, as on the previous day. Clearly the harvest was being gathered in the more distant fields. The sunshine lay pure gold everywhere-- The King found himself noticing these things, and registering them in his mind, as if this was to be the last time that he was to sit there, in Paradise, enjoying them. The last time? It might be-- At last the meal ended. First of all, Judith rose to her feet, and drove the Imps, armed with lumps of sugar, before her, along the verandah, to say good morning to Diana's foal in the paddock. Then, a minute or two later, Uncle Bond slipped away, unostentatiously, into the house. The King, and his friend, the Duke, were thus left alone, at the table, facing each other. A sudden, odd desire to postpone what was coming, whatever was coming, beset the King. Producing his tobacco pouch and pipe, he filled his pipe leisurely. The Duke betrayed no sign of impatience. A certain large patience, it occurred to the King, was, perhaps, the Duke's most pronounced characteristic. The King lit his pipe. Then he looked at the Duke. The Duke smiled. "Your little holiday is over. Your short leave of absence is at an end, sir," he said. "I told you, you may remember, sir, that it would only be a short leave of absence." "You have come--for me?" the King asked. "Yes." "I am ready to go with you--back to duty," the King said slowly. "There is nothing, I think, to keep me here." Then he stood up, abruptly. "But we can't talk here," he exclaimed. "Shall we walk?" The Duke stood up in turn. Together, they stepped down from the verandah. The King led the way on to the lawn. At the moment, his desire for movement was paramount. They crossed to the far end of the lawn, and turned, in silence. Then the King took the Duke's arm. "I am ready to hear what you have to say," he said. The Duke shortened his long stride, and fell into step with the King.