"Where did she learn to smile?" thought the King, conscious that the gaze of the three princes was still upon the girl.
She held out the gloved hand. "King Cuthbert, I am sent to your court by
King Luke. Will you be pleased to look in my mirror?"
Her wrist was raised to the level of his eyes. "What do you see?" she asked in a soft, solicitous voice.
"Myself, maiden," he replied.
She sighed, and the tears came in her eyes.
"Who else could I see?" he exclaimed.
She smiled and shook her head, then she nodded towards the three straight boys on the lawn. "Those are your sons?"
"Mine, indeed, maiden."
"I am sent to make their acquaintance. I am the niece of King Luke, the
Princess Myrtle."
King Cuthbert could not believe his ears, nor trust his eyes, for the Princess Myrtle had great vaults of gold under the thousand-year-old turrets of her castle; and pearls like pigeon eggs in the renowned diadem with which the generations of her royal race were crowned kings or queens.