you did not mention it to the Incaess. if you don't mind.
ERMYNTRUDE. This is really charming of you. But the time has come for me to make a revelation. It is your Imperial Majesty's turn now to brace yourself. To steel yourself. I am not the princess. I am—
THE INCA. The daughter of my old friend Archdeacon Daffodil Donkin, whose sermons are read to me every evening after dinner. I never forget a face.
ERMYNTRUDE. You knew all along!
THE INCA.[bitterly, throwing himself into his chair]. And you supposed that I, who have been condemned to the society of princesses all my wretched life, believed for a moment that any princess that ever walked could have your intelligence!
ERMYNTRUDE. How clever of you, Sir! But you cannot afford to marry me.
THE INCA.[springing up]. Why not?
ERMYNTRUDE. You are too poor. You have to eat war bread. Kings nowadays belong to the poorer classes. The King of England does not even allow himself wine at dinner.
THE INCA.[delighted]. Haw! Ha ha! Haw! haw! [He is convulsed with laughter, and ,finally has to relieve his feelings by waltzing half round the room.]
ERMYNTRUDE. You may laugh, Sir; but I really could not live in that style. I am the widow of a millionaire, ruined by your little war.
THE INCA. A millionaire! What are millionaires now, with the world crumbling?
ERMYNTRUDE. Excuse me: mine was a hyphenated millionaire.
THE INCA. A highfalutin millionaire, you mean. [Chuckling]. Haw! ha ha! really very nearly a pun, that. [He sits down in her chair.]
