mperor got to do with it?" she said. "Who is
the Emperor, anyway?"

"Now that," said Gorman, "is what I'm always asking. Where does the
Emperor come in? I asked Steinwitz. I asked King Konrad Karl. I asked
that footling ass Bland-Potterton. They don't any of them seem to be
able to do more than just gasp and say 'The Emperor' over and over
again."

"The Emperor's wish----" said von Moll.

"There you go," said Gorman. "That's exactly what I'm complaining
about. I ask what the Emperor has got to do with it and all the answer
I get is 'The Emperor.'"

"Anyway," said the Queen decisively, "the Emperor has nothing to do
with me and I'm not going to sell Salissa to him or any one else."

Von Moll was master of himself this time. No doubt it appeared to him
that this defiance of the Emperor's wish was childish, unworthy of the
attention of a serious man. The silly girl who sat at the end of the
table playing at being a queen would pack up her boxes and leave the
island on the day fixed by the Emperor. Meanwhile she looked quite
pretty, prettier than he thought she could look, with her heightened
colour, sparkling eyes, and slightly parted lips. He began to think
that it might be worth his while to marry her in spite of her
bourgeoise blood. He looked at her with cool, appraising eyes. The
slight smile on his lips was the only evidence of the contempt he felt
for a girl who thought she could resist the Emperor.

After that, conversation at the dinner table became rather difficult.
Smith did the best he could with the champagne bottle, but the wine
seemed only to increase von Moll's conviction of his own superior
wisdom. The Queen drank nothing but water, so her temper preserved its
raw edge. It fell to Gorman to keep things going. He told a series of
stories about Ireland, all of them good stories, some of them partly
true. No one laughed, except Kalliope, who did not understand the
stories but liked the twinkle in Gorman's eyes. At the end of each
story he asked von Moll how he thought the Emperor would deal with a
country like Ireland. Von Moll twisted his moustaches fiercely and
told Gorman that if Ireland had been a German dependency she would
have ceased to trouble the world early in the eighteenth century.
Gorman listened with every appearance of deference and docility, while
von Moll explained the Prussian way of dealing with people like the
Irish.

The Queen could not cut the dinner short. Smith had provided ma