"You look rather serious, oh, my prince!" said Howard, as, some few
hours later, he leisurely climbed into the phaeton beside Stafford. "I
have noticed with inward satisfaction that as we approach the moment of
meeting with your puissant parent, the Sultan, an air of gravity and
soberness has clouded that confoundedly careless, devil-may-care
countenance of yours. I say with inward satisfaction, because, with my
usual candour, I don't mind admitting that I am shivering in my shoes.
The shadow of the august presence is already falling on me, and as the
hour draws near I feel my littleness, my utter insignificance, with an
acuteness which almost compels me to ask you to let me get down and
make my way back to London as best I can."

"Don't be an ass," retorted Stafford, rather absently.

"You ask an impossibility of me, my dear fellow; but I will try and
conceal my asininity as best I can. May I ask, to change the subject,
where you were wandering all the morning?"

Stafford coloured slightly and bestowed minute attention to the off
horse.

"Oh, just prowling round," he replied, leisurely.

"You tempt me to finish the quotation. Did you find anyone to devour?
Apropos, has his majesty, the Sultan, ever mentioned matrimony to you,
Staff?"

Stafford looked round at him for an instant.

"No," he said, curtly. "What the devil made you ask?"