"It's a point we must discuss on the return of Reginald," said the baronet agreeably. "A poet could illuminate the subject. I had the most interesting exposition of the thing to-night, when I met a lady who talked to me about myself with the frankness of a child. A most exhilarating experience!"

"It must have been if she told you all," said Norah, wondering. "Could she possibly be more frank than I?"

"She was," replied Sir Andrew cheerfully. "In you, even at your most outspoken moments, there is some reserve -I've lately noticed it,"-here Norah flushed uneasily. "My latest friend was as frank as Paterson, quite artless: downright, literal, explicit. She spoke to me of myself as if I were— as if I were a post-boy."

"You meet such dreadful people," said Miss Amelia helplessly.

"Was she a lady?" asked his cousin. He reflected for a moment, staring at the table-cloth. "Upon my word," said he, "I never thought of that. In any case I couldn't have told, for it was in the dark, and I couldn't see her jewelry," and Miss Amelia stared with open mouth at his criterion of judgment.

But Norah, who knew him better, smiled. "Do we know the daring creature?" she inquired.

He fixed his eyes on her, and chuckled slyly, then looked around the room inquiringly. "You ought to," he answered. "It was your visitor; I drove her from Duntryne."

"What is he saying, Norah?" asked Miss Amelia anxiously. "I wish you wouldn't mumble."

quite unconscious who I was," said the baronet; "I fear I owe her a most abject apology. Where is she? Who is she?"

"I fancy she's having supper with the housekeeper," said Norah quietly. "Aunty, your marvellous nephew's dinner-jacket wasn't meant for us; he expected to be dining with Miss Skene's companion."

CHAPTER X.

Mrs. Powrie, the housekeeper of Fancy Farm, was a lady whose attitude to the frolic and ridiculous universe, was one, at the cheerfullest, of petulant acquiescence; had she heard that the end of the world was due on Saturday, she would have said no more than "There's a stupid caper for you!" and gone and drawn her savings from the bank. Her views of men were not unkindly, but contemptuous; her standard of the sex being Peter Powrie, whom, speaking French unconsciously, she sometimes called "a gniaf! a perfect gniaf!" and she ought to know, since Peter was her husband. Not a bad man in the main; there were worse in the world, we agreed, even in censorious Schawfield, than Peter Powrie, and his wife herself would probably do any mortal thing to please the ereature short of living with him, a trial she had ended half a dozen years ago when he sold her cornelian brooch and bought a pup.

"You're lucky to be single, Miss Colquhoun," she remarked with a sigh that was half of feeling, half repletion, as she rose from the supper-table, wheeled her cosy arm-chair to the hearth, and poked the logs on the roar

"I had the honor," said Sir Andrew. "Where is she?"

"And she discussed yourself with you! What charming equanimity!"

"It's only fair to add that she was

(with a natural loathing of things canine) she had lost her temper more than once to hear the other servants call, in the common argot of the underlings, "pug's parlor."

"I'm sure of it!" said the stranger,

"It's a point we must discuss on the return of Reginald," said the baronet agreeably. "A poet could illuminate the subject. I had the most interesting exposition of the thing to-night, when I met a lady who talked to me about myself with the frankness of a child. A most exhilarating experience!"

"It must have been if she told you all," said Norah, wondering. "Could she possibly be more frank than I?"

"She was," replied Sir Andrew cheerfully. "In you, even at your most outspoken moments, there is some reserve -I've lately noticed it,"-here Norah flushed uneasily. "My latest friend was as frank as Paterson, quite artless: downright, literal, explicit. She spoke to me of myself as if I were— as if I were a post-boy."

"You meet such dreadful people," said Miss Amelia helplessly.

"Was she a lady?" asked his cousin. He reflected for a moment, staring at the table-cloth. "Upon my word," said he, "I never thought of that. In any case I couldn't have told, for it was in the dark, and I couldn't see her jewelry," and Miss Amelia stared with open mouth at his criterion of judgment.

But Norah, who knew him better, smiled. "Do we know the daring creature?" she inquired.

He fixed his eyes on her, and chuckled slyly, then looked around the room inquiringly. "You ought to," he answered. "It was your visitor; I drove her from Duntryne."

"What is he saying, Norah?" asked Miss Amelia anxiously. "I wish you wouldn't mumble."

"You drove our visitor here?" said Norah with uplifted eyebrows.

"I had the honor," said Sir Andrew. "Where is she?"

"And she discussed yourself with you! What charming equanimity!"

"It's only fair to add that she was

quite unconscious who I was," said the baronet; "I fear I owe her a most abject apology. Where is she? Who is she?"

"I fancy she's having supper with the housekeeper," said Norah quietly. "Aunty, your marvellous nephew's dinner-jacket wasn't meant for us; he expected to be dining with Miss Skene's companion."

CHAPTER X.

Mrs. Powrie, the housekeeper of Fancy Farm, was a lady whose attitude to the frolic and ridiculous universe, was one, at the cheerfullest, of petulant acquiescence; had she heard that the end of the world was due on Saturday, she would have said no more than "There's a stupid caper for you!" and gone and drawn her savings from the bank. Her views of men were not unkindly, but contemptuous; her standard of the sex being Peter Powrie, whom, speaking French unconsciously, she sometimes called "a gniaf! a perfect gniaf!" and she ought to know, since Peter was her husband. Not a bad man in the main; there were worse in the world, we agreed, even in censorious Schawfield, than Peter Powrie, and his wife herself would probably do any mortal thing to please the creature short of living with him, a trial she had ended half a dozen years ago when he sold her cornelian brooch and bought a pup.

"You're lucky to be single, Miss Colquhoun," she remarked with a sigh that was half of feeling, half repletion, as she rose from the supper-table, wheeled her cosy arm-chair to the hearth, and poked the logs on the roaring fire of her private room, which (with a natural loathing of things canine) she had lost her temper more than once to hear the other servants call, in the common argot of the underlings, "pug's parlor."

"I'm sure of it!" said the stranger,

best for the realm; but he will abide by the rules of the game, of which the dominant is this: "The Sovereign becomes an automatic registration machine when he is unable to find an alternative Ministry."

The King succeeded to the throne when the two Houses of Parliament were in collision. He had to deal with a Liberal Ministry fresh from a General Election, pledged to reduce the Peers to the position of subordination in the legislature which they had held in fact for the last eighty years. The lists were open, and the combat was raging, when Death imposed a truce. The King was therefore confronted at the very threshold of his reign with a great opportunity. Would he seize it or would he not? The opportunity was that of proposing to the leaders of the two opposing parties that they should meet for the purpose of ascertaining whether it was possible to compose their differences and settle the Constitutional crisis on no-party lines. The secrets of the Royal Chamber are well kept; but it was believed, probably with truth. that the King had determined to advise his advisers to take such a step. That conviction probably precipitated the resolution of Mr. Asquith to anticipate the Royal counsel, and to meet the King with an announcement that he had himself taken the initiative, and that a Round Table Conference had been arranged. The King had therefore no need to intervene. His wish had been obeyed before it had been formally expressed.

During the prolonged sittings of the abortive Conference the King had no opportunity to express his opinion. It was well known that he sincerely desired a successful issue to its deliberations, and that no one was more grieved than his Majesty when the irreconcilable attitude of the Peers rendered agreement impossible.

But although all hope of compromise

was impossible, the King desired that the Peers should have a full opportunity of formally placing on record their final decision on the matter. If the Hereditary House was to disappear the thing should be done decently and in order. The Peers did not avail themselves of their respite, and the crisis came to a head.

Then Mr. Asquith approached the King and demanded the dissolution of Parliament, in order that the electors might finally decide between the two parties on the great issue. No public statement has been made as to what passed on that momentous interview. But it needs no seer to describe the nature of the communications which passed between the King and his Prime Minister. Mr. Asquith had declared in the most explicit manner that he would not ask for a dissolution except on the clear and distinct understanding that if the nation gave a verdict in his favor, the will of the people must be carried into effect. In plain English, this meant that if the Liberals came back with a sufficient majority, the Royal prerogative would be exercised automatically in overriding the resistance of the Peers.

For King George this was the crucial moment. It was within his right to dismiss Mr. Asquith and to call Mr. Balfour to his counsels. He did not exercise that right. Why he did not do so has never been stated. But whether it was because he had ascertained that Mr. Balfour would not take the responsibility of attempting to carry on the Government, even for the few weeks before the dissolution, in face of a hostile majority, or whether he thought that under the Constitution he would have been straining the prerogative had he refused the request of his Ministers to refer the question at issue to the decision of the electors, or whether other considerations may have dictated his decision, the fact is

clear. After a brief but painful period of hesitation and indecision, in which the King recoiled from giving the definite and formal answer which in case of a Liberal victory would compel bim automatically to give effect to the advice of Ministers, the King made up his mind to grant a dissolution and to accept all the consequences. The decision was not lightly made. The King did not for one moment blind himself as to its logical consequences. If he granted a dissolution he would in effect place his Royal prerogative in the hands of Mr. Asquith should the appeal to the country send that Minister back to power with a sufficient majority. If, on the other hand, the Opposition won the election, his course was clear. But there was an offchance that neither party would win a decisive victory. In that case the responsibility of deciding what should be done would again be placed in his hands. What he would have done in that contingency need not be discussed. But it is tolerably certain that he would have followed the example of Queen Victoria and used the influence of his high position to induce the leaders to bring the long controversy to a close by a policy of mutual compromise. The only thing certain is, that had such a crisis arisen, the King would not have hesitated to prove that the Crown was no mere cypher. but was the real balance-wheel of the State.

The King granted Mr. Asquith's demands for a dissolution on Mr. Asquith's terms, and loyally waited the result of the General Election. Probably no one waited the verdict of the polls with more anxiety than King George. If the result had been indecisive, he would have been face to face with one of these supreme opportunities which make or mar a Monarchy. If, on the other hand, the Coalition came back with a three

figure majority, the course of events would pass beyond his control. So far as this issue was concerned, he would sink at once into the position of an automaton, whose signature could either be withheld from the writs of summons of peers, whose only qualification was their hereditary rank, or could be affixed to patents of 500 new peerages, as Mr. Asquith directed. He might hate this automatic exercise of his prerogative by the Prime Minister; but the King is far too loyal to the Constitution, and far too good a sportsman to think of evading his obligations.

The moment the result of the General Election was declared, the King recognized his position. Another dissolution was out of the question. The Opposition could not furnish him an alternative Cabinet that could face the House of Commons for a single day. Not the overbearing arrogance of a usurping Minister, but the abject and hopeless impotence of the Opposition, reduced the King to the position of an obedient automaton in the hands of Mr. Asquith. That he did not like the position may be taken for granted; but there was no help for it. And to do the King justice, whether he liked it or disliked it, he never allowed his personal feelings to appear either in public or in private.

If he must for the nonce be an automaton by the inexorable law of the Constitution, King George has never allowed any one to perceive that the action of the automaton was not the free exercise of his own Royal will. Should the Peers persist in compelling the exercise of the Royal prerogative to enforce the will of the Commons, that prerogative will be exercised without tremor, or hesitation, or holding back. The King will play the great game, according to the strictest rules, loyally and royally to the

end.