could do any one of us an evil turn at any moment. He could cut down our Civil List to-morrow, or even send us packing, and establish a republic. We're dependent for everything upon his pleasure. I think, really, my dear, you ought to try to be decent to him—if only for prudence' sake."
"Decent to him!" echoed her Majesty. "I like that! As if I didn't treat him a hundred million times better than he deserves? I hope he can't complain that I'm not decent to him."
"You're not exactly effusive, do you think? I don't mean that you stick your tongue out at him, or throw things at his head. But trust him for understanding. It's what you leave unsaid and undone, rather than what you say or do. He's fully conscious of the sort of place he occupies in your heart, and he resents it. He thinks you distrust him, suspect him, look down upon him. . . ."
"Well, and so I do," interrupted the Queen. "And so do you. And so does everybody who has any right feeling."
"Yes; but those of us who are wise in our generation keep our private sentiments regarding him under lock and key. We remember his power, and treat him respectfully to his face, however much we may despise him in secret. What's the use of quarrelling with our bread and butter? We should seek to propitiate him, to rub him the right way."
"Then you would actually like me to grovel, to toady, to a disgusting little low-born, black-hearted cad like Tsargradev!" cried the Queen, with scorn.
"Oh, dear me, no," protested her husband. "But there's a vast difference between readying, and being a little tactful, a little diplomatic. I should like you to treat him with something more than bare civility."
