BOOK V
I. — THE EMPIRE OF NOTTING HILL
ON the evening of the third of October, twenty years after the great victory of Notting Hill, which gave it the dominion of London, King Auberon, came, as of old, out of Kensington Place.
He had changed little, save for a streak or two of grey in his hair, for his face had always been old, and his step slow, and, as it were, decrepit.
If he looked old, it was not because of anything physical or mental. It was because he still wore, with a quaint conservatism, the frock-coat and high hat of the days before the great war. “I have survived the Deluge,” he said. “I am a pyramid, and must behave as such.”
As he passed up the street the Kensingtonians in their picturesque blue smocks, saluted him as a King, and then looked after him as a curiosity. It
