"Are you a queen, then?" she cried in a high, sweet voice. "How very
pleasant. Dear me, how _very_ pleasant!"
Caroline smiled with equal delight. Very few persons of this little
lady's age had such quick sense; mostly they had to be taught the
game.
"Yes," she answered, "I am. I am Queen Marie Antoinette."
The little lady fell back a step. Her blue eyes clouded and she
pouted like a big baby.
"Why--why, how _can_ you be?" she demanded, fretfully, "when that is
who I am, myself!"
For a moment Caroline scowled; such flexibility was almost
disconcerting. Then her natural good-humor and the training
resulting from many summers with Miss Honey, who claimed all the
best roles at once and shifted often, prompted her generous reply:
"All right. I'll be Mary Queen of Scots, then--I like it about as
well."
The little lady beamed again.
"That will be very pleasant," she said, "I trust your majesty is
quite well?"
"Yes, indeed," Caroline assured her, adding airily; "How well the
castle is looking this morning! I think I'll have the flag out every
day, now that I'm back."
Marie Antoinette flushed angrily and pouted once more.
"You! _You!_" she mimicked. "What have you to do with my flag? That
goes up by my orders, let me inform you! Here, gardener--" and she
waved her little parasol at the man in gray, who was already walking
rapidly towards them--"is that flag in my honor or not?"
"Yes, Miss," he said promptly.
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