"And don't play me for one,
either."
A lift of the eyebrows was his answer--but Courtney could say much that
way.
"It's not a bad sort of occupation--being a King," he reflected.
I ignored him.
"And you could fill the place quite as well as Ferdinand of Lotzen," he
went on.
"You will be offering presently to wager that I'll be the next King of
Valeria," I scoffed.
"With the proper odds, I'd risk it."
"Name them."
"No--not yet," he said; "but I'll go you five thousand even, now, that
you marry the Princess Royal."
"This court atmosphere seems to go to your head."
"That has nothing to do with the wager," he insisted.
"I'll not take you," I said. "The last fool bet is enough for me."
"I thought I heard someone say: 'The sixth dance, cousin.'"
"You did."
"And you call that a 'fool bet'?"
"I do,--and the more so that we were sober when we made it."
"You're a bit hard to please, lately," he mocked.
"I'm a bit easily led astray, lately, you mean," I retorted.
All this talk, as we made our way through the crowd, was interrupted at
intervals while Courtney greeted those he knew and presented me. They
were mainly of the diplomatic corps and, if they noted the coincidence
of my name and Dalberg features, they were adepts enough not to show
it.
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