her ladies in waiting."

"Of course, Mrs. Fogleplug, if you're _bent_ on Miss Heritage making a
public exhibition of herself," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, "I have
nothing to say. I don't suppose she has ever been on a horse in her
life!"

"Oh, but I have, Ma'am!" Daphne pleaded eagerly. "I've ridden ever since
I was a child. And I'd love to ride that mare, if I may!"

"Oh, very _well_, Miss Heritage, ve-ry well. But remember, if you break
your neck, _I_ shall not accept any responsibility," which Daphne took
as a permission. As soon as Mr. and Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson had taken
their seats, the sixteen milk-white horses began to pull and strain till
eventually the great coach was on the way.

"Mummy," cried Ruby a little later, "I can see Miss Heritage! She's
riding close behind. And oh, she _does_ look so sweet on horseback!"

"Put your head in,--do, child!" said her mother sharply. "Whatever will
the people think if they see a Princess hanging half out of the window
like that!"

Ruby sat down rather sullenly. Clarence would have liked to put his own
head out if it had been consistent with his dignity as a Prince. As it
was, he could only hope that Daphne would come to no harm. "Really!"
continued Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, "what with one's governess riding
behind one's coach, and those two ridiculous bird-cars probably flapping
overhead, this is _quite_ unlike any Coronation Procession _I_ ever
heard of!"

"More like a bally Circus," remarked Clarence. "Only wants a couple of
clowns with bladders on horseback and a performing elephant."

"_I_ consider," said his mother, "that a State procession should have
more solemnity about it.... How horribly this coach jolts! It _can't_
have any springs!... There you are again, Edna, buried in that
note-book! you might show a little interest in what is going on!"

"I'm sorry, mother, but it all seems to mean so little to me."

"Then all I can say is--good gracious, _what_ a lurch! I quite thought
we were over!--all _I_ can say is that it's unnatural to be so
abstracted as you are. We're getting close to Eswar--whatever they call
it. If you look round you will see the walls and towers."

Edna adapted her _pince-nez_ and turned perfunctorily for a moment.
"_Quite_ quaint!" she said, and resumed her reading.

"Picturesque, _I_ should call it," corrected her mother. "Sidney,
doesn't it put you in mind of dear lovely Lucerne?"

"Very much so, my love," he replied, "or--e