Highness to your own form, in which, believe me, Sire, you need have no
fear of refusal."

"Listen to me, Baron!" said Mirliflor, who knew very well how his old
Godmother would treat such an order. "You will say nothing whatever to
her Majesty of my being here--and I'll tell you _why_ you will not. If
you do, she will necessarily have to hear of your method of acquiring
the information. And it's not a very creditable method, Baron!"

"I have done nothing I am ashamed of," he said doggedly; "her Majesty
will recognise that I have acted solely from devotion to her interests."

"Possibly--but I fancy she will also recognise that a Court Chamberlain
who uses a cap of darkness to overhear private conversations is an
official whose devotion might be occasionally inconvenient. I really
don't think I should mention it, Baron, if I were you."

Even he appeared to see the force of this. "Since your Royal Highness
desires your presence here to remain unknown, I will observe the
greatest discretion," he said stiffly; "I have the honour to leave your
Royal Highness to pursue his occupation." And with this he withdrew,
with very obvious affront. He left Mirliflor even more disturbed than
before. The Baron, having been present unseen at his interview with his
Godmother, evidently knew all about his hopes with regard to Daphne, and
seemed--for some reason that Mirliflor could not fathom--anxious for his
success. But, though the Court Chamberlain had promised discretion,
Mirliflor doubted whether he would be able to keep such a secret long.
He was quite capable of thinking that, in Mirliflor's own interests, he
was justified in disclosing it. And then--Mirliflor pictured himself
summoned in his present form before the whole Court--where he had last
appeared as Princess Edna's suitor, the difficulty of explaining his
recent behaviour--the general indignity and humiliation he would be
exposed to--even if the Fairy did not repudiate all knowledge of him,
which she was quite capable of doing! No, he could not stay to face all
that--he must leave the Palace that very night, and without a word to
his Godmother. Why should he see her when nothing he could urge would
have the slightest effect? Perhaps, when she heard he was back at
Clairdelune, it would bring her to her senses.

Nor would he go through any parting scene with Daphne--what was it to
her whether he went or stayed? If he saw her, he might be tempted to
tell her how passionatel