Lord Cyril’s greeting restored her self-complacency. He was “just ordinary,” she decided at a glance, small and grey-haired, with blue eyes and unobtrusive manners, but he expressed it as his opinion that Usk was a very lucky fellow, which showed him to be a person of discernment. He had brought a secretary with him, it appeared, and his wife a lady companion, but Lady Cyril’s son, Baron von Neuburg, had been delayed on the Continent by the breakdown of a train, and would not arrive till the next day. Félicia was still oppressed by a sense of mystery. Why did Lady Caerleon seem to leave the initiative in everything to her sister-in-law, and why was Lady Cyril constantly on the point of taking the lead in another person’s house, to the obvious amusement of her husband? The secretary and the lady companion, who were introduced as M. Paschics and Mlle. Mirkovics, were stiff and silent, and appeared, no doubt unintentionally, to disapprove of what was going on; and, most unpardonable of all, Usk’s attention seemed to be devoted chiefly to his aunt, and not to his betrothed. It was not until tea was over, and the visitors had been shown to their rooms, that Félicia was able to mark her sense of his behaviour by refusing to come into the garden with him to see if there were any primroses out. Instead, she went upstairs with Maimie. “Well!” she said, when they were in their own room, “I would like to know what’s come to all of the folks. Lady Cyril’s only a dowdy old thing after all, though her sables are too sweet for words, but they all treat her just like a queen.” “And she is a queen,” said Maimie impatiently, “and her sables were given her by the Emperor of Scythia. She is Queen Ernestine of Thracia, who married Count Mortimer two years back, as Mr Hicks has told you time and time again, and her son, who comes here _incognito_ to-morrow as Baron von Neuburg, is the King of Thracia. I meant you to marry him.” “Land alive!” was all that Félicia could say. “I wanted to make you an empress, and you threw away your chance,” went on Maimie bitterly. “And this time I was going to have you marry a king, and a week before he comes you conclude to get engaged to Usk!” “Why, Maimie Logan, have you lost your mind?” cried Félicia, recovering herself. “You know we would never be let do it.” “I know you just would, then. I could fix it.” “Well, it’s too late now, and I don’t care, any way. Usk is a real good fellow, and his folks are just lovely. I’m on yet.” “I do wonder how you’ll feel when you come to live way down in the country all of the year, and be out in the air mornings and afternoons and evenings. You’ll have a nice round contented face like the Jones girls by then, rosy-cheeked and blowsy and dairymaidish.”