ld you lies?" he asked
passionately, and she answered, "Yes," and steadily looked him in the
face.

The monosyllable quenched him like a pail of cold water. He stood
silent, perplexed, trying to remember.

"When?" he asked.

"In the berlin between Brixen and Wellishmile."

Wogan remembered that he had told her of his city of dreams. But it was
plainly not to that that she referred. He shrugged his shoulders.

"I cannot remember."

"You told me of an attack made upon a Scottish town, what time the King
was there in the year '15. He forced a passage through nine grenadiers
with loaded muskets and escaped over the roof-tops, where he played a
game of hide-and-seek among the chimneys. Ah, you remember the story
now. There was a chain, I remember, which even then as you told of it
puzzled me. He threw the chain over the head of one of those nine
grenadiers, and crossing his arms jerked it tight about the man's neck,
stifling his cry of warning. 'What chain?' I asked, and you
answered,--oh, sir, with a practised readiness,--'The chain he wore
about his neck.' Do you remember that? The chain linked your hand-locks,
Mr. Wogan. It was your own escape of which you told me. Why did you
ascribe your exploits to your King?"

"Your Highness," he said, "we know the King, we who have served him day
in and day out for years. We can say freely to each other, 'The King's
achievements, they are to come.' We were in Scotland with him, and we
know they will not fail to come. But with you it's different. You did
not know him. You asked what he had done, and I told you. You asked for
more. You said, 'Amongst his throng of adventurers, each of whom has
something to his credit, what has he, the chief adventurer?'"

"Well, sir, why not the truth in answer to the question?"

"Because the truth's unfair to him."

"And was the untruth fair to me?"

Mr. Wogan was silent.

"I think I understand," she continued bitterly; "you thought, here's a
foolish girl, aflame for knights and monsters overthrown. She cries for
deeds, not statecraft. Well, out of your many, you would toss her one,
and call it the King's. You could afford the loss, and she, please God,
would be content with it." She spoke with an extraordinary violence in a
low, trembling voice, and she would not listen to Wogan's stammered
interruption.

"Very likely, too, the rest of your words to me was of a piece. I was a
girl, and girls are to have gallant speeches given to them