It was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing predestined about it. With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her. I let him take me to the English Embassy, and we went through some sort of a ceremony. Suddenly he understood what had happened. And by degrees, perhaps, that maiden distrust of yours that makes you shrink from my kisses, will vanish. She—She can snub him. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. Fortescue in the drawing-room, and actually shake hands with him in an entirely hopeless manner and hope everything would turn out for the best. She looked and felt like a fairy princess.
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