“It is not your fault, Phil. I ought to be the first person to know that love is not at one’s own command. But oh, dear child, if you could abstain from refusing him until after the wedding is over! I don’t mean that you should deceive him, of course, but if only you could prevent his proposing to you----” “I’ll do what I can,” said Philippa doubtfully, but she felt that if King Michael had determined to propose to her, it was probable that he would do so, in spite of any obstacles she might put in his way. That this intuition of hers was a correct one she discovered as soon as she re-entered the assembly-room with the Queen. Her father was standing not far from the cloakroom door, and stepped forward to meet her. “Why, Phil, I have been looking for you everywhere! I could not think what had become of you until the Prince of Arragon told me that he had left you with her Majesty.” “Yes; I was seized with a sudden faintness, and Philippa was kind enough to remain with me until I felt better,” said Ernestine graciously, bestowing one of her rare smiles on Philippa as she turned towards the Thracian consul, who was anxious to present a relative to her. “Phil,” said Lord Caerleon, taking his daughter aside, “the King has been speaking to me about you.” “Oh, father!” exclaimed Philippa, in dismay. “I suppose I ought to feel honoured,” continued her father ruefully, “but that youth riles me--there’s no other word for it. He asked to be allowed to visit me to-morrow at the hotel, graciously intimating that he considered me as in a sort of way a brother monarch, and therefore felt able to dispense with strict etiquette. I guessed what he wanted, and thought we might just as well settle matters without getting your name mixed up with his, so I said I couldn’t think of giving him the trouble. Thereupon he did you the honour to request me in so many words to regard him as a suitor for your hand, this being merely preliminary, as he explained, to a formal proposal through the proper channels. I said I hadn’t had any conversation with you lately on such subjects, but judging from the sentiments you expressed on the last occasion, I couldn’t give him any hope. Upon that he informed me that I wasn’t up to date. He is now a reformed character, father of his country and so on, the condescending patron of everything that’s good. I don’t want to laugh at any man’s reformation, Phil, but the fellow takes himself too seriously. I told him I didn’t see that it was much good bothering you about the matter, and he became very high and mighty indeed. He reminded me that young ladies did not receive offers of marriage from crowned heads every day, and intimated that such an honour ought to be accepted in a proper spirit. In other words, he warns you not to reject his offer without due consideration. I am telling you about it because he insisted I should, and I thought he might turn rusty and make some unpleasantness if I didn’t, but having