A WAY OUT
Daphne was rather surprised to see the Court Godmother enter, for she
had not honoured her by any special notice since her first arrival. But
she was pleased, and touched as well, by a visit which she knew must
have cost the old Fairy considerable effort.
"I thought I'd come up and see how you were getting on, my dear," began
the latter, after sinking into the chair Daphne had brought forward for
her, and recovering her breath. "I hope you are happy here--and--and
well treated?"
"Quite, thanks, Court Godmother," said Daphne.
"But you shouldn't sit moping here by yourself like this."
"Her Majesty doesn't like me to come down until she sends for me,"
explained Daphne; "and she hasn't to-day. But I haven't been moping,
Court Godmother; I've been listening to the swallows. They're discussing
their plans for the winter, and they _can't_ make up their minds where
to go, poor darlings!"
"That's only what you _fancy_ they're talking about," said the Fairy
sharply; for the gift of understanding bird-language is comparatively
rare, and only possessed by those who have a strain of Fairy blood in
their descent. "You can't possibly _know_!"
"I didn't till I came here, and then I suddenly found I could. Princess
Ruby declares I make it all up--but I don't. I can even understand what
some of the animals have to say, and its rather fun sometimes. The other
morning in the Gardens I heard a tortoise telling a squirrel----"
"I daresay, I daresay," interrupted the Court Godmother, who had not
come there to hear the small talk of any tortoise; "I find their
conversation wearisome myself--and so will you when you've been here a
little longer. And so you're comfortable here, are you?" she went on,
looking round the chamber, which had walls of mother-o'-pearl with
hangings of delicate shimmering blue-green at the window and round the
small ivory four-post bed. "Well, this room looks very cool and
pleasant. And you've pretty dresses to wear, it seems. I like that one
you have on--most becoming, though it wants an ornament of some kind to
set it off. But perhaps you don't care for jewellery?"
"I do," said Daphne, "very much. But I haven't any now, you see."
"But you had once, hadn't you? I seem to recollect the Queen telling me
she bought something--a pendant, I fancy she said--from you before you
came to Märchenland. Or was it somebody else?"
"No, it was me," said Daphne. "It was very decent of her, because I was
in rather a hole just then--with a debt I couldn't possibly have paid
otherwise--and the pendant was no use to _me_, you see--not a thing I
could ever have worn."
"So you wasted your money in buying an ornament which was unsuited to
you, eh?"
"I didn't buy it, Court Godmother," said Daphne, and proceeded to
explain--much as she had done at "Inglegarth"--how it came into her
possession. The Fairy questioned her about her father, but she had
little information to give. Even his name was uncertain, as it seemed he
had only moved into his last rooms shortly before his death. All his
landlady could say was that it was something foreign which she could not
pronounce. But she had gathered from certain things he had let fall that
he had led a wandering life as a musician, and had at one period been a
riding-master. She believed that, in the latter capacity, he had met his
young wife, Daphne's mother, and that it had been a runaway marriage.
She died soon after giving birth to Daphne, and left him so
broken-hearted that he did not care to make any fight against illness
when it came to him, but rather welcomed a death that meant re-union.
"But all I _really_ know," concluded Daphne, "is that that pendant
belonged to him, and that my adopted Mother took care of it for me till
I was grown up. And I think he would not have minded my selling it when
I wanted the money so badly."
"Well, whether he would have minded or not," said the Fairy, "you _did_
sell it--and a sorry bargain you made of it, too! I'll be bound, now,
that you've told the whole Court about it long ago!"
"I have told no one, Court Godmother," said Daphne. "Why should I tell
them about my own private affairs? I shouldn't have said anything to
_you_, if you hadn't heard of it already from her Majesty."
"You were wise to hold your tongue," remarked the Fairy, greatly
relieved. "For I may tell you that, if the Court once heard that the
Queen bought that jewel from you, it would prejudice them very seriously
against her. And I am sure you would not wish _that_."
"Of course I shouldn't wish it," said Daphne, a little haughtily.
"Though how I could prejudice her Majesty by telling anybody of an
instance of her kindness to me, I really don't know. She's scarcely worn
the pendant herself, and now she's given it to Prince Clarence. But
nobody knows that it was once mine, and you can be quite sure that
nobody ever will, from me."
"In a Court like this, my child," said the Fairy, almost apologetically,
"one cannot be too careful. But I can see you are to be trusted." And,
after some conversation on less dangerous subjects, she retired.
Her worst fears had been confirmed; she could no longer doubt that
Daphne was Prince Chrysopras's daughter. She wondered now how she could
ever have doubted it. But this constituted her Daphne's official
Godmother. As such, was it not her duty to see that she had her rights?
If she did her duty to her godchild it might entail very unpleasant
consequences to herself--consequences from which she felt herself
shrinking as much as ever. Might they not be avoided? Daphne evidently
had no suspicion of her claims. And, as the Fairy reminded herself,
"What the eye does not miss the heart will not grieve for." The child
was quite happy and contented as she was. If the Marshal still had any
ambition to resume his power, he would have no scruples about removing
any rival.
"I should only be exposing her to danger," thought the Court Godmother.
And there were the poor King and Queen to be considered, and the Baron
and the Astrologer Royal, who would all go down in the general _débâcle_
if the truth were allowed to come out. She was bound to think of
_them_. So far as she could see, the only result of disclosure would be
to establish the Marshal as Monarch--and they had had quite enough of
him as Regent.
So, as it is seldom difficult to discover insuperable objections to any
course that one has strong personal reasons for avoiding, the Fairy
easily persuaded herself that she owed it to others to remain silent.
The secret was safe enough. Both Queen Selina and Daphne could be
depended on not to betray it now. It was better for everybody
concerned--particularly the Court Godmother--that it should remain
unknown for ever.
Still, her conscience smote her a little with regard to Daphne. She was
so well fitted to be a Queen--it seemed hard that she should forfeit the
crown that was rightfully hers. "But that's entirely her own fault!" the
Fairy told herself. "Xuriel read the stars quite correctly. He foretold
not only the very spot where she would be discovered, but the sign by
which she was to be recognised. If she chose to part with the jewel to
another, she must take the consequences. _I_'m not responsible!"
And yet, after all, Daphne _was_ her god-daughter, if she could not be
openly acknowledged as such. Something must be done to make up to the
poor child for all she had lost. And here the Fairy had a positively
brilliant idea--why not marry her to Mirliflor? But almost immediately
she remembered with dismay that she had been making a very different
matrimonial arrangement for him. That, however, was before she knew what
she knew now. The case was entirely altered--she could not possibly
allow him to commit himself to an alliance with a daughter of these
usurpers. That must be prevented at all hazards, and fortunately he had
taken no irretrievable step as yet. "Unless I'm much mistaken," she
thought, "he will forget all about Princess Edna if he once sees Lady
Daphne. She ought to be lovely enough to satisfy even _his_ ideal. But
if he doesn't see her soon, it may be too late to save him."
Like most Fairy Godmothers, she possessed the power of impressing any
_protégé_ of hers who was not more than a couple of hundred leagues away
with a perfectly distinct vision of anybody or anything she chose. She
had made not a few matches by this means in her best days, and some of
them had not turned out at all badly. But it was a long time since she
had last exercised any of her occult faculties. To do so demanded a
concentration of will-power and psychic force which told on her more and
more severely as she advanced in years, and she had resolved to abstain
from any practices that might shorten the life to which she had every
intention of clinging as long as possible.
"But I must risk it--just for this once," she decided. "Yes, I'll make
him dream of her this very night."
Meanwhile Queen Selina had informed her daughter of the brilliant future
that awaited her, and was not a little annoyed at Edna's failure to
express the least enthusiasm.
"I wish Godmother wouldn't meddle like this in my affairs," she said. "I
suppose I shall have to see this Prince Mirliflor now if he comes; but
it is not at all likely that he will have any of the qualities that
appeal to _me_."
"My love!" remonstrated Queen Selina. "He will be the King of
Clairdelune some day!"
"He may be, Mother," returned Edna. "But that is a consideration which I
shall not allow to affect me in the slightest."
"Of course not, my dear," said her Mother, feeling that Edna could be
safely trusted to look after her own interests. "You are free to decide
exactly as you please. I shall put no pressure on you whatever."
"My dear Mother," returned Edna, "you would gain nothing by it if you
did."
That night the Court Godmother retired early, and spent a long and
strenuous vigil in calling up a vivid recollection of Daphne as she had
seen her that afternoon, and imprinting the vision on her godson's
sleeping brain. She was unwell in consequence all the next day, but she
was easier in her mind after having prevented any untoward effects her
counsels might have had upon Mirliflor. It was rather a strain upon her
to face the Royal Family again, but she forced herself, for her own
sake, to treat them with as much outward respect as before.
She had begun to think that the worst was over when an envoy suddenly
arrived in hot haste from Clairdelune bearing a formal proposal from
Prince Mirliflor for Princess Edna's hand, and the information that he
was following shortly to plead his suit in person.
He had also entrusted the messenger with a short despatch to his
Godmother, which she read with impotent fury. It was a somewhat involved
and incoherent letter, expressing his thanks for the vision, for which
he could not doubt he was indebted to her, but intimating that she had
convinced him so forcibly that Princess Edna possessed qualities
infinitely more precious than the most exquisite beauty, that his
determination to win her had already been irrevocably fixed.
"Prefers her to Lady Daphne, does he?" she said to herself, as she
realised that she would be forced to speak out now if he was to be saved
from such an alliance. "Then he must _marry_ her, that's all! I can't
and won't turn all Märchenland topsy-turvy on _his_ account! I've done
all I could for him, and I shall leave him to go his own way. I'll go up
to bed before he arrives, and I expect it will be a long time before I'm
able to come down, for I feel sure I am going to be ill--and little
wonder!"
Queen Selina was so elated by the Prince's message that she ordered it
to be publicly announced at once. The Court, whom she informed herself,
expressed the greatest delight, and, as for the old Court Chamberlain
von Eisenbänden, he was almost lyrical in his jubilation.
"This is indeed a glorious day, Madam!" he cried. "It has long been my
dream to see the reigning houses of Märchenland and Clairdelune united,
but of late I had begun to despair that it would ever be accomplished!
And from all I have heard of Prince Mirliflor, her Royal Highness is
almost as much to be felicitated as he!"
"Thank you, Baron," replied the Queen. "We are all most pleased about
it. Though I shall be very lonely without her. You see," she added,
raising her voice for the benefit of such of her ladies-in-waiting as
happened to be within hearing, "there is no one else here who is any
companion for me. I can't make intimate friends of any of my ladies, as
I could of the dear old Duchess of Gleneagles, for instance, or even
the Marchioness of Muscombe. Ah, my dear Baron, our English aristocracy!
You've nothing to approach them in a country like this--nothing!"
"I can well understand," he said, "that your Majesty must feel the loss
of such society."
"I miss it, Baron," Queen Selina confessed, without untruthfulness,
seeing that she always _had_ missed it. "It is only natural that I
should. The Duchess is such a sweet woman--a true _grande dame_! And the
Marchioness, though only a peeress by _marriage_, _such_ a clever,
talented creature! They would both have so rejoiced to hear of our dear
Edna's engagement--she was such a favourite of theirs, you know! I
remember the Duchess always prophesied that she would make a brilliant
marriage."
These particulars were thrown in mainly for the edification of the
Court, but Queen Selina had almost brought herself to believe them, and,
in any case, none of her own family was at hand just then, so she was
safe from contradiction.
The announcement of Prince Mirlinor's proposal had no sooner reached
Count Rubenfresser's ears than he drove over to the Palace, to ascertain
from Edna herself whether the report had any truth in it. He succeeded
in obtaining a private interview, and at once put his question.
"It is only true so far as that the Prince has proposed to me by
letter," Edna informed him. "Whether I shall accept him when he appears
will depend entirely upon circumstances."
"You _won't_ accept him, Princess," said the Count, drawing himself up
to his full height, which was now well over seven feet. "Or, if you do,
he will never wed you. _I_ shall see to that!"
"Really, Count!" protested Princess Edna, feeling secretly rather
pleased. "I don't quite see what it has to do with _you_."
"Don't you?" he replied. "I _might_ want to marry you myself. I've been
thinking of it lately."
"Have you?" said Edna, not so pleased. "That is very good of you. But
has it never occurred to you that I might have a voice in the matter?"
"You would _have_ to belong to me, if I wanted you badly enough," he
said calmly.
"And you're not sure yet if you do want me badly enough, but, in the
meantime, you would prevent anyone else from marrying me if you
could--is _that_ it?"
"That's exactly it!" he said, gratified at being so thoroughly
understood.
"Well, can't you see how _selfish_ that is of you?"
"It's splendid being selfish," he said, "and not really so difficult
after all--when you _try_."
"And how do you suppose you could prevent me from marrying Prince
Mirliflor if I thought proper to accept him?"
"Oh, that would be easy. I should only have to unchain Tützi, and send
him to kill the Prince for me. Tützi's so intelligent and obedient that
he'll do everything I tell him."
"I think you forget, Count, that it's against the law to let that dragon
loose."
"I know," he said; "but I've no respect for human laws any more. I'm not
going to obey anything in future, except my own instincts."
"I'm sure you don't mean that. And if you really sent that dragon to
kill anybody--especially anyone who had done nothing to offend you--it
would be very wicked indeed."
"Other people might think so," he said. "I shouldn't myself--and that's
all that really matters. I'm going to make my own morality for the
future. I want to be a Superman, like that learned man you told me about
with the odd name. Aren't you glad I'm taking your advice?"
"Of course I am pleased," said Edna, "that you should be more
independent and unconventional and assert yourself--which is all that
Nietzsche really meant. You mustn't carry it too far, you know."
"But you said I couldn't be really great unless I felt the will and the
power to inflict great suffering," he said; "and that's just what I _do_
feel."
"Yes, but you can feel the will and the power without actually
inflicting suffering," said Edna instructively. "Nietzsche never
intended _that_. And if you set that horrid dragon of yours at the
Prince, you _would_ inflict very great suffering indeed."
"I shouldn't mind _that_," he said.
"Perhaps not--but Father and Mother would. And you would be imprisoned
again, and lose your dragon as well. But I don't suppose for a moment
you are serious. It would be too absurd of you to threaten violence to a
Prince before I've ever seen him or made up my mind to accept him--which
most likely I shall not do."
"That is true," he said, rather as if he were glad of an excuse for not
taking any immediate action. "Yes, I will wait till I hear whether he is
betrothed to you or not. But if I find he _is_, I shall have to clear
him out of my path somehow or other."
He left Edna with the consciousness that she had been more than usually
interested. The Count was certainly developing. She liked his new air of
self-confident domination. It would be rather thrilling, she thought, to
be wooed in this masterful way. But he had taken some pains to let her
see that he was not sure yet whether she was worth the trouble of
wooing! That was insulting, of course, but he might alter his opinion in
time--and then she would know how to avenge herself. She wondered if
Prince Mirliflor would be ardent and domineering enough to carry her by
storm, and caught herself hoping he might be.
But when, shortly afterwards, she heard that he was just entering the
Courtyard of the Palace with his suite, she was seized by a sudden
panic. "_You_ go down and speak to him, Mother," she implored the Queen.
"I--I can't see him just yet. And make him understand that I must get to
know him better before I can give him a definite answer."
Queen Selina bustled down to the State Reception Hall, where she arrived
in a highly flurried condition, just after the Prince and his brilliant
retinue had been ushered in.
"My dear Prince!" she began. "This is really _too_ kind! So delighted by
your proposal--we _all_ are--dear Edna especially. We feel it such a
compliment. My husband--his Majesty, I mean--will be in directly, but
Edna has asked me to make her apologies for not coming down for a few
minutes. The poor child--naturally--is feeling a little shy and
overcome."
"Madam," said the Prince, whose comely face and gallant bearing had
already won him the sympathies of those of the Court who were present,
and particularly the Court Chamberlain's, "I count each minute a month
until I have the happiness of looking upon the enchanting face that has
haunted me constantly from the moment I beheld it in a vision."
"In a vision?" cried the Queen. "How very odd! But how did you know,
Prince, it was our Edna?"
"I will attempt to describe my vision, Madam," he replied, "and, though
my poor words cannot hope to do it justice, they will at least convince
you that it was indeed the Princess whom I was permitted to see."
He described her as well as he could, though with a growing bewilderment
that the lady of his dream should have a Mother who so little resembled
her.
Queen Selina listened to his rhapsody with misgivings. With every
allowance for the fervour of a lover who was also a Fairy Prince, even
maternal partiality could not blind her to the fact that his description
would be far less incorrect as applied to that Heritage girl than to the
Princess Edna.
"It certainly _suggests_ dear Edna, Prince," she remarked, with a mental
note that Daphne must be kept out of his way. "Except, perhaps in one or
two respects; but then you can't expect to see people in dreams looking
_exactly_ like themselves, _can_ you? I'll run up and bring her down to
you--and, if a Mother may say so, I _don't_ think you'll be _very_
disappointed."
But it was to Daphne's chamber that she went first. "Oh, Miss Heritage,"
she began, quite pleasantly, "I'm going to ask you to do something for
me. I don't at all like the effect of those jewels they've sewn on to
the front of my satin-brocade. I'm sure they would look much better on
my cloth-of-gold skirt. _Would_ you mind getting both skirts from my
wardrobe and just making the necessary alterations for me? You had
better set to work at once, as I may be requiring the cloth-of-gold very
shortly. And as time is pressing, I will tell them to bring all your
meals up here till the work is done. It's so important that I can't
trust any of the regular ladies-in-waiting with it."
"That disposes of _her_ for at least a week," she reflected, as she went
on to Princess Edna's apartments. "And everything ought to be settled
long before _that_!"
When, a little later, she smilingly re-entered the Reception Hall with
one arm affectionately placed round her reluctant daughter's waist, it
cannot be denied that the Prince was very much disappointed indeed. The
vision had not prepared him for Edna's _pince-nez_, among other matters,
and altogether he felt that his Godmother had exaggerated the Princess's
personal attractions to a most unscrupulous degree. But this he had
sufficient self-command to conceal. In fact, he rather overdid it,
though it was only to himself that his courtly greeting sounded fulsome
and insincere.
But if Edna detected no extravagance in his homage, she was none the
more pleased with it. It made her feel awkward and self-conscious. She
set him down in her own mind as "too finicking," while his good looks
did not happen to be of a type that appealed to her.
Still, they got through the first interview fairly well, though both
were relieved when a message came from the Court Godmother that she was
feeling too indisposed to leave her apartments, but would be glad to see
him as soon as he was at liberty. He had himself conducted to her at
once, and was not a little aggrieved, as well as surprised, by the
asperity of his reception.
"Well," she said peevishly; "so you've seen your Princess, have you?
And now I suppose it is all settled between you?"
"Not yet," he said stiffly. "I believe she is reserving her answer till
we are better acquainted."
"But you don't expect it will be unfavourable, do you?"
"Do _you_, Godmother? I can't think you would have urged me to present
myself here to be publicly humiliated."
"Oh, there's no doubt she will accept you," she said, with a sharp
twinge. "You need have no apprehensions on that score. And, as you no
longer consider beauty indispensable, I daresay she will be as
satisfactory a helpmate as you could wish."
"I daresay," he agreed dully; and then his pent-up grievance suddenly
broke out in spite of him. "With all respect to you, Godmother
Voldoiseau," he said, "I don't consider you've treated me fairly over
this! You persuaded me that it was my duty to marry at once, and that
there were better and more permanent qualities than beauty. I'm not
complaining of _that_--I am quite ready to believe that the Princess
Edna is as learned and admirable a lady as you gave me to understand,
while she is not without good looks of a kind. But why send me a vision
representing her as a miracle of loveliness? That is a deception which I
can't understand, and I confess I find hard to forgive!"
How could she have foreseen that he would be foolish enough to imagine
that the vision represented Edna? But the worst of it was that the Fairy
could not explain her real intention just then without landing herself
in fresh difficulties. So she sought refuge in prevarication.
"_I_ send you a vision!" she said. "I don't know what you're talking
about, Mirliflor. A vision, indeed!"
"Didn't it come from _you_?" he asked lamely. "I--I made sure it must
have."
"You had no business to make sure of anything of the kind. And if you
choose to dream that your future bride is more beautiful than she
happens to be, I don't see why you should put the blame on _me_! But the
truth is you're longing for some excuse for getting out of this
marriage. Come, Mirliflor, you know you are--and you had better say so
frankly."
"It is not so, Godmother," he replied; "I'm quite prepared to obey your
wishes. After all, since I _must_ marry, I am not likely to find a more
advantageous match than this. Besides, I couldn't possibly back out of
it now--even if I desired."
"And what," asked the Fairy, "if you actually meet the Princess of your
dreams?" She was ignorant of the Queen's man[oe]uvre, and so thought he
could not well fail to come across Daphne that very evening.
"That is so likely!" he said bitterly. "A mere creation of my own
mind--an ideal that I ought to have known would never be realised! No,
Godmother, since there is no hope of that, it matters little to me whom
I marry!"
"Listen to me, Mirliflor," said the Fairy impatiently. "I--I'm not so
bent on this alliance as I was. Never mind _why_--but I'm not.
And--and--if you would rather withdraw, it's not too late. _I_ see
nothing to prevent you."
"Nothing to prevent me!" replied Mirliflor indignantly. "There is my
honour! What Prince with any sense of honour at all could propose to a
Princess and then inform her that he finds, after a personal interview,
that he has changed his intentions? You of all people, Godmother
Voldoiseau, should know that we cannot _do_ these things!"
"Those ideals again!" said the exasperated Fairy. "You'll drive me out
of all patience directly! But there--I've said all I could, and if you
_will_ be pig-headed, you must. And now I'll ask you to go away, as I'm
really not well enough to bear any more conversation."
He had not been gone more than ten minutes when there was another knock
at her door, and this time it was Princess Edna herself who entered.
"So it's _you_, is it?" snapped the Court Godmother, with none of her
customary urbanity. And then, recollecting the necessity of keeping up
appearances, threw in a belated "my dear." "Well, I hear you are taking
time before you put Mirliflor out of suspense, but I presume you've
already decided to accept him?"
"That's what I came to consult you about, Court Godmother," replied
Edna. "I don't feel that I--he is at all a person I could ever be happy
with. He is not on the same intellectual plane with me--we should have
nothing whatever in common. He seems to have none of the qualities that
would make me respect and look up to a man."
Relieved though she was, the Fairy still resented any disparagement of
her favourite godson from such a quarter.
"Hoity-toity!" she exclaimed--an expression which, if it ever was
popular, is no longer used by anyone but Fairy Godmothers--and even the
Fairy only indulged in it under extreme provocation. "Let me tell you
that Mirliflor is not generally regarded as ineligible. But, no doubt,
my dear," she added acidly, "you have every right to be fastidious."
She was greatly tempted to let her know that Mirliflor would be anything
but broken-hearted by a refusal, but prudence warned her that she had
better not. "And may I ask what you propose to say to him?"
"Oh," said Edna, "I suppose I shall have to tell him to-night that I
find I don't like him enough to marry him."
"And give everybody to understand that he is personally displeasing to
you! Indeed you will not!" said the old Fairy imperiously. "_Other_
persons' feelings have to be considered as well as your own. _Mine_, for
one. Mirliflor would never forgive me for exposing him to such
humiliation. Nor would his father, King Tournesol, for that matter, and
I can't afford to quarrel with either of them. You can't get rid of an
unwelcome suitor like that--at all events, not in Märchenland!"
"Can't I?" said Edna. "Then how _am_ I to get rid of him?"
"A Princess of high breeding," replied the Fairy, "finds some means of
tempering her refusal so as to avoid wounding her suitor's pride; and I
may tell you Mirliflor has more than his share of that. The usual method
here is to accept him, on condition that he succeeds in answering some
question so difficult that it is no disgrace if he fails to answer it."
"Do you mean something in the nature of a riddle?" asked Edna.
"Well, a riddle will do. Yes, there are precedents for that. A riddle
would be quite in accordance with Court etiquette. Ask him a riddle if
you like."
"I'm afraid I am not very familiar with riddles," said Edna. "I have
never found them particularly amusing myself. But I must try and
remember one. It needn't be so very difficult, because he doesn't seem
to me clever enough to guess _any_ riddle."
"Quite clever enough not to try!" was on the tip of the Fairy's tongue,
though she did not say it. "I've no doubt, my dear," she replied, "that
any riddle you may ask Mirliflor will be quite beyond his power to
answer."
"Thank you very much for your advice, Court Godmother," said Edna. "I
daresay I shall be able to remember a riddle of some sort by this
evening."
The Fairy felt that she had extricated herself from her dilemma with
considerable tact and ingenuity. Not only had she delivered her godson
from the slight of being summarily rejected by this upstart girl, but
she had saved herself from all necessity to make any compromising
disclosures.
"Yes," she told herself complacently, "I've really got myself and
Mirliflor out of it very neatly indeed. I mayn't be quite as
quick-witted as I was in my prime--but I'm not in my dotage _just_
yet!"