The whole fact is that there has been political crisis in
Paranoya. Upset. Apple-cart. Yes? You follow? No? The Ministry have
been--what do you say?--put through it. Expelled. Broken up. No more
ministry. New ministry wanted. To conciliate royalist party, that is
the cry. So deputation of leading persons, mighty good chaps, prominent
merchants and that sort of bounder, call upon us. They offer me to be
President. See? No? Yes? That's right. I am ambitious blighter, Senor
Bleke. What about it, no? I accept. I am new President of Paranoya. So
no need for your kind assistance. Royalist revolution up the spout. No
more royalist revolution."
The wave of relief which swept over Roland ebbed sufficiently after an
interval to enable him to think of some one but himself. He was not
fond of Maraquita, but he had a tender heart, and this, he felt, would
kill the poor girl.
"But Maraquita----?"
"That's all right, splendid old chap. No need to worry about Maraquita,
stout old boy. Where the husband goes, so does the wife go. As you say,
whither thou goes will I follow. No?"
"But I don't understand. Maraquita is not your wife?"
"Why, certainly, good old heart.
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