‘Share thy throne and rule thine Empire! Surely, Sire, thou hast gone mad!’
‘Yes, truly, I am mad—mad with love for thee, and thou knowest it, Mercia, else wouldst thou have kissed my hand in acknowledgment of it?’
‘In acknowledgment of thy love!’ she answered in strong indignant tones, ‘it was not so—thy love never entered my thought.’
‘Whose then?’ questioned Felicitas shortly.
‘Geometrus,’ she acknowledged bravely. But the next moment she felt she had given away both herself and him.
‘Geometrus!’ he scoffingly repeated. ‘And dost thou place that poltroon before me? Am I to be flouted for him?’
‘His love is honourable, and thine is not; therein lies the difference, my Sire,’ she answered soothingly, with a view of bringing him to reason.
‘But my love shall be made honourable, Mercia. I will get a divorce, and thou shalt fill the Empress’s place—aye, and fill it far away better than she has ever done! I hate her—curse her!’ And he ground his teeth in rage at the thought of his wretched inability to accomplish what he was so loudly boasting of.
‘But I cannot rob another woman of her husband: I would not defraud the meanest in thy realm, much less thine Empire’s highest lady.’
‘It is not robbery, Mercia, she doth not own my heart, and never did! I was cozened into that marriage by my cousin Osbert—curse him—curse him for a meddling fool!’