"It doesn't matter," said Tony sadly. "I am used to being misunderstood." He paused. "What did you think of Isabel?" he asked. Guy was evidently prepared for the question. "I was pleasantly surprised with her," he admitted. "She seemed to me a very attractive girl, and I should think quite straightforward." Again Tony nodded his head. "Yes," he said, "I think that's true. It makes me all the more sorry I can't go on helping her." "Can't go on helping her!" repeated Guy. "What do you mean?" "Well, she told me her history yesterday, and it's not at all the sort of thing a rising young politician ought to be mixed up with. She admitted as much herself. I am afraid the only thing to do is to get rid of her as quickly as we can." Guy sat up indignantly. "I don't know what you are talking about," he said, "but I am quite sure you have misunderstood her in some way or other. Anyhow what you suggest is impossible. You can't pick up people and drop them again in this thoughtless and selfish fashion. What's the girl to do? You have chosen to make yourself responsible for her, and you must arrange to send her back to her people--or something." "Unfortunately," said Tony, "there are difficulties in the way. Her father and mother are both dead, and her nearest relations are all out of work for the moment." "Has she any profession?" asked Guy. Tony nodded. "Yes, she's a queen." There was a short silence. "A _what_?" demanded Guy. "A queen!" repeated Tony. "It's not a profession that I altogether approve of for women, but she had been brought up to it, and----" Guy pushed back his chair. "Look here, Tony," he exclaimed, "what on earth are you talking about?" Tony raised his eyebrows. "Isabel," he explained patiently. "Cousin Isabel. The nice little red-haired girl you were teaching gardening to yesterday. She is the only daughter of that late lamented inebriate--Don Francisco of Livadia." With a startled ejaculation Guy suddenly sat up straight in his chair. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but nothing intelligible seemed to suggest itself. "Furthermore," pursued Tony tranquilly, "she is the affianced wife of our illustrious little pal King Pedro the Fifth. That of course explains why she has run away." By a supreme effort Guy succeeded in regaining his lost powers of conversation. His face was a beautiful study in amazement, dismay, and incredulity. "But--but--Good Heavens!" he gasped; "This can't be true! You must be joking!" "Joking!" repeated Tony sternly. "Of course I'm not joking. No respectable Englishman ever jokes at breakfast." Guy threw up his hands with a gesture that was almost tragic.