"Not just at present," said Moore, cheerily. "I trust your health continues to be of the best, your Highness?"

"I thank you, yes, but I have heard no such singing in my favorite drawing-rooms as when you were wont to frequent the haunts of the _beau monde_."

"I have been out of town," said Moore, calmly, as Bessie brought the tea to the Prince in a cup which had escaped the general smash-up. The Prince sipped its contents in high good humor.

"Delicious, Mistress d.y.k.e," he declared, "your husband will be a fortunate individual."

"There is but one grief which intrudes itself upon his happiness," said the girl, tremulously, "the disfavor of the Prince, who in his darkest hour won from him both love and grat.i.tude by his generosity."

"Hush, Bessie," said Moore. "His Highness has enough to think of, dearest."

"By the way, Moore," said Wales, languidly, "did I not hear some mention made of your name in connection with a political position in Bermuda?"

"You are right, your Highness," replied Moore, reluctantly, "there was some such mention made."

The Prince looked thoughtful and drained his cup.

"Bermuda," said he, "is a long way from England, Mr. Moore."

A step sounded on the stairs at this moment, and Moore gladly rid himself of the embarra.s.sment he felt by approaching the door to make certain it was no undesirable personage who was now approaching.

"Lord Brooking!" he cried. "What good luck brings you back?"

"I soon wearied of the theatricals and was out for a stroll when by chance I encountered Mr. d.y.k.e on his way to Sir Percival's," explained the young n.o.bleman entering. "It is needless to say, your Highness, I made haste to join you here."

"But," said Wales, "did the good citizens not stop you on your way?"

"For a moment or two, your Highness, but I convinced them of my entire harmlessness and was allowed to pa.s.s."

"Is Mr. Moore at home?" demanded a hoa.r.s.e voice, strongly flavored with Scotch dialect, from the hall below.

"McDermot," exclaimed Moore. "What can the old vagabond want with me to-night?"

"If I am not mistaken, Tom, this is the old bloodsucker who is to be your future publisher?" said Lord Brooking.

"For life," responded Moore. "You remember I told you of our bargain not two hours ago. Yes, I am in, Mr. McDermot."

"Well then I 'll coom up," announced the publisher.

Moore was about to advise him not to when a gesture from Lord Brooking led him to desist.

"Pardon me, your Highness," said Lord Brooking, "but for certain reasons I deem it better that this gentleman should not recognize you when he first comes in."

"I'll look at the view, then," said the Regent, pleasantly.

By the time Wales had reached the window, wisely choosing the one which opened upon the street, for there still came sounds of distant chase from the roofs, McDermot was knocking on the door.

"Come in," called Moore.

The old Scotchman entered in a great rage.

"So I ha' caught ye at last?" he shouted at sight of the poet.

"Have it your own way, sir."

"Six times ha' I called here, sair, ye trickster, ye cheat."

"Hold on now," said Moore, in sudden anger, "you are an old man, but more than enough of such talk is a great deal too much."

Bessie laid a restraining hand on Moore's arm.

"Perhaps, Mr. McDermot, you will be kind enough to state your grievance," she said, quietly.

"It's aboot the contract," sputtered the irate publisher.

"Is n't that all right?" asked Moore, wonderingly. "I signed it."

"Of coorse ye did, ye trickster, but ye did not tell me when ye called to do so that the evening before ye had been shamefully ejected from Sir Percival's house by order o' the Prince of Wales."

"Surely that was Sir Percival's business," replied Moore. "He may have been proud of the affair; I was n't."

"Ye should ha' told me," repeated McDermot, doggedly.

"But I did n't know you were so interested in my goings and comings."

"You took my thousand poonds."

"Was that wrong?" asked Moore.

"Wrong?" echoed the publisher. "D'ye think I 'd give ye ten shillings for ye skin?"

"See here," cried Moore, his anger again getting the better of him, "my skin is not for sale, but, if you value yours, you had better keep a civil tongue in your head, you old Rob Roy."

Lord Brooking stepped forward between the two angry men.

"Am I right in believing that you are dissatisfied with your bargain, Mr. McDermot?" said he in a soothing tone.

"Dissatisfied? _Dissatisfied_! Why, at the present time Mr. Moore is the very worst investment in the literary market."

Brooking waved Moore back with an admonishing gesture.

"Then I take it you would be glad to cancel the agreement?" he continued.

"But my thousand poonds?"

"I will advance Moore the money to repay you. Of course it is a risk, but for the sake of old times I will a.s.sume the obligation. Do you need other security than my word?"

"Not I," said McDermot, gladly. "There is your contract, Mr. Moore."