"Well, tha's all right, Sir. Ye know, ye always have been known fer bein' more of a ladies' man."

"Nor women neither."

"Och, well. The whole human race then, is it? Now that could present a wee bit of a problem," Sturgess thoughtfully replied as he removed the Prince's oxblood leather shoes.

"Do you think that I made that up, Sturgeon? That 'man delights me not' nonsense?"

"Sure. Why not? I like ta believe that ye can be that creative with a turn o' the phrase when ye want ta be, Sir."

"Well, I didn't. That phrase was coined by some far more intelligent blithering idiot."

"Ah," came the noncommittal reply.

"Do you know what it's like to be ineffectual, Sturgeon?" the Future Defender of the Faith queried, betraying an acute level of self-awareness far greater than that which he was usually credited with possessing.

Sturgeon deemed it most prudent to stay mum on that one. Instead, he pretended to be thoroughly engrossed in the task of plumping up the pillows. He needn't have bothered with the ruse, however.

"No, of course not," the Prince answered his own question. "How could you? You're the most effective person I've ever known. They should let you run Parliament."

While they had been talking, the Prince had been traveling back and forth between bedroom and dressing room, and he now emerged from the latter, buttoning the top of his pajamas.

"Do you think it possible for a quite sane person to be driven mad by attending one too many embassy parties?"

"I suspect so, Sir," the valet replied, turning down the covers.

"Do you think that will be my ultimate fate, then? To get carted away before God and everybody-starkers-just because one too many horsy debs felt impelled to query me about the world's finest fertilizers?" The Prince climbed between the sheets.

"I suspect not, Sir. Ye're far too practical to let tha' happen ta ye." And, knowing that at certain points in every man's life, that there were desperate times that shrieked for desperate measures, Sturgess produced the universal panacea. Placing the rather ratty-looking Teddy on the bed beside the recumbent Prince, he tucked the sheets more snuggly up around both of their necks.

The Prince yawned, languorously, his emotions temporarily mollified. "Do you realize, Sturgeon," he wondered aloud, with an almost intellectual detachment to his tone, "that during the entire hellish evening, not once did a single soul even mention world affairs? The whole bloody planet could go to hell, and do you think that any of those people would care? Do you think it possible that nobody cares?"

"At times, Sir, I suspect ye are the only one." Sturgess crossed the room and, as if by magic, the lights went out. "Try to get some sleep now, Sir. It's been a rather long day fer ye and, chances are, there'll be another embassy party tomorrow."

And the Prince who, having found that life raft of a note on his breakfast tray, had begun the day with such an elevated mood, drifted off to sleep the slumber of the damned.

7.

MindyLou McKenna's voice screeched down the telephone line. "What did you just say to me?"

"I'm sorry. Excuse me?" Daisy asked vaguely. "I got distracted there for a minute. I thought maybe I'd left something still cooking in the kitchen; but no, I realized-my mistake!-that heavenly smell is just another one of my bridges burning behind me."

"I don't know what the heck you're talking about, Daisy. Could you please just tell me what the heck you're talking about? No, on second thought, don't. It'd probably give me a migraine. Just get over to Mrs. Reichert's before-"

"In my heart of hearts, I always refer to you as the Bottom-Feeder, MindyLou," Daisy interrupted. "And I don't believe that I'll be coming in to work anymore," she added, just barely managing to keep the whoop bottled up inside until she had delicately replaced the receiver. She had never realized it before, but that whoop had been waiting all of her life to come out.

8.

"Another day, another embassy party," the valet said brightly, drawing the drapes and exposing a stunningly damp view of the Thames Valley.

"Please tell me that your real name is Benny Hill, Sturgeon," the Prince requested, unable to suppress the very unregal modulations of the beggar from creeping into his voice.

9.

"Pack your bags," Daisy announced, virtually flying into the shop.

"How long are we staying for?" Bonita asked, as if she had this sort of conversation every day of her life.

"For as long as the first year's check lasts us. If we run out before next year's check kicks in, well... we'll worry about that when we have to worry about it. And not a minute before."

10.

"Same time, same place," the bodyguard said as they entered the room.

"Fine," his employer muttered with some degree of asperity. "If you're not willing to be John Cleese, then how about if we just all agree to call me Bootsie and have done with it?"

11.

Bonita squinted through her glasses, closely examining the extensive selection of keys that were attached to an elasticized cord around her wrist. Choosing one, she inserted it, locking the door behind them. As they strolled down the street, bags in hand, she tossed the cord and the keys into the nearest trash basket.

"Don't you have any family that you need to tell about where you're going?" Daisy couldn't help but wonder out loud.

"Nope."

"No family at all?"

"Never saw the point in it. Figured on just putting one together." she shrugged. "Making it up as it goes along."

12.

The confidant closed the drapes.

"Are we in Bedlam yet?"

"Nae. But I'm afraid that we're all on our way."

13.

"Just a little advice," Bonita offered. There was a warning note in her voice that Daisy happened to miss, as she hurried through the airport, the topknot bobbing along at her side.

"Shoot."

"Never lose sight of who you are."

"Of course not," came the vehement reply.

They were craning their necks, scanning the departure times on the display screen.

"And never forget where you come from."

"Not possible."

The childlike smile belied the underlying seriousness of the final warning that came just prior to boarding the jet. "And, whatever else you do, never stay too long at the ball."

And Daisy, who, having never traveled very much before, had become temporarily sidetracked by the whole ticket, boarding pass, your copy, my copy process, uttered a distant, "Yeah, yeah; sure, sure," in response.

14.

"Is it the Fool's Day again?"

"It can be if you so order it, Sir."

15.

In Heathrow Airport, on an early morning late in the month of April, an auburn-haired woman with a baseball cap jammed on her head stood waiting to pass through customs. At her side was an equally short companion, wearing a tweedy green dress and her version of a Victorian 'do made even wilder by a night's sleep on the plane.

"And where might you be going, Miss?"

Daisy Silverman smiled, shouldering her bag as the official waved her through.

"Why, to see the Queen, of course."

Part II.

She Flies Through the Air with the Greatest of Ease.

For he that talketh what he knoweth.