Yet here she was pranked out in an
expanse of satin, la Regina. Regina, indeed!
She obediently did her best to be important. Indeed, she rather fancied
herself; she looked sideways at the audience, self-consciously, quite
ready to be accepted as an imposing and noble person, if they would
esteem her such. Her voice sounded hoarse and common, but whether it was
the pink satin in contrast, or a cold, I do not know. She was almost
childishly afraid to move. Before she began a speech she looked down and
kicked her skirt viciously, so that she was sure it was under control.
Then she let go. She was a burly, downright little body of sixty, one
rather expected her to box Hamlet on the ears.
Only she liked being a queen when she sat on the throne. There she
perched with great satisfaction, her train splendidly displayed down the
steps. She was as proud as a child, and she looked like Queen Victoria
of the Jubilee period.
The King, her noble consort, also had new honours thrust upon him, as
well as new garments. His body was real enough but it had nothing at all
to do with his clothes. They established a separate identity by
themselves.
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