"I like the Prince,"--she had said--"Most people like him who know him,--but I do not always like those who surround him,--pardon me for my frankness! The Prince of Wales is a social magnet,--he draws a number of persons after him who by dint of wealth, if not intelligence, can contrive to 'push' into his set. Now I am not an advocate of 'push'--moreover I do not care to be seen with 'everybody';--this is my sinful pride you will say, or as our American cousins would put it, my 'cussedness.' But I assure you, Mr Tempest, the best possession I have, and one which I value a great deal more even than my literary success, is my absolute independence, and I would not have it thought, even erroneously, that I am anxious to mix with the crowd of sycophants and time-servers who are only too ready to take advantage of the Prince's good-nature." And, acting upon her determination, she had remained more than ever secluded in her cottage-nest of foliage and flowers during the progress of the week's festivities,--the result being, as I have stated, that the Prince 'dropped in' upon her quite casually one day, accompanied by his equerry, and probably for all I knew, had the pleasure of seeing the dove 'reviewers' fed, and squabbling over their meal. Much as we had desired and expected the presence of Rimânez at our gathering, he did not appear. He telegraphed his regrets from Paris, and followed the telegram by a characteristic letter, which ran thus:-- My dear Tempest. You are very kind to wish to include me, your old friend, in the party you have invited to meet His Royal Highness, and I only hope you will not think me churlish for refusing to come. I am sick to death of Royalties,--I have known so many of them in the course of my existence that I begin to find their society monotonous. Their positions are all so exactly alike too,--and moreover have always been alike from the days of Solomon in all his glory, down to the present blessed era of Victoria, Queen and Empress. One thirsts for a change; at least I do. The only monarch that ever fascinated my imagination particularly was Richard Coeur de Lion; there was something original and striking about that man, and I presume he would have been well worth talking to. And Charlemagne was doubtless, as the slangy young man of the day would observe, 'not half bad.' But for the rest,--_un fico!_ Much talk is there made about Her Majesty Elizabeth, who was a shrew and a vixen and blood-thirsty withal,--the chief glory of her reign was Shakespeare, and he made kings and queens the dancing puppets of his thought. In this, though in nothing else, I resemble him. You will have enough to do in the entertainment of your distinguished guests, for I suppose there is no amusement they have not tried, and found more or less unsatisfactory, and I am sorry I can suggest nothing particularly new for you to do.