“The King of England,” he observed, “is only a figurehead. He doesn’t begin to have the power of the President of the United States.”
“His power is severely li-MIT-ed,” said Jannadeau gutturally, “by custom but not by statute. In actua-LITY he is still one of the most powerful monarchs in the world.” His thick black fingers probed carefully into the viscera of a watch.
“The late King Edward for all his faults,” said Gant, wetting his thumb, “was a smart man. This fellow they’ve got now is a nonentity and a nincompoop.” He grinned faintly, craftily, with pleasure at the big words, glancing slily at the Swiss to see if they had told.
His uneasy eyes followed carefully the stylish carriage of “Queen” Elizabeth’s well clad figure as she went down by the shop. She smiled pleasantly, and for a moment turned her candid stare upon smooth marble slabs of death, carved lambs and cherubim. Gant bowed elaborately.
“Good-evening, madam,” he said.
She disappeared. In a moment she came back decisively and mounted the broad steps. He watched her approach with quickened pulses. Twelve years.
“How’s the madam?” he said gallantly. “Elizabeth, I was just telling Jannadeau you were the most stylish woman in town.”
“Well, that’s mighty sweet of you, Mr. Gant,” she said in her cool poised voice. “You’ve always got a word for every one.”
She gave a bright pleasant nod to Jannadeau, who swung his huge scowling head ponderously around and muttered at her.
“Why, Elizabeth,” said Gant, “you haven’t changed an inch in fifteen years. I don’t believe you’re a day older.”
She was thirty-eight and pleasantly aware of it.
“Oh, yes,” she said laughing. “You’re only saying that to make me feel good. I’m no chicken any more.”
She had a pale clear skin, pleasantly freckled, carrot-colored hair, and a thin mouth live with humor. Her figure was trim and strong—no longer young. She had a great deal of energy, distinction, and elegance in her manner.
