"Did you not hear the Captain?"
"The Captain is a rough old sailor, unused to young girls; I thought—"
"You think too much, Otto. Besides, it's rather new for you to play the part of 'Squire of Dames' to wandering damsels—I believe the root of the matter is that you are in love with the girl, yourself. Why don't you marry her? You could, you know."
"Your Highness knows very well that I am not free to marry," said Angelescu in a low voice, a dark flush spreading over his face. The Prince knew well, as did everyone else, that his aide was bound, and had been for years, to a married woman of high rank, whose unhappy married life had been responsible for the forming of the liaison, and that now time and custom and a quixotic sense of moral obligation continued to bind the unfortunate Angelescu to the lady's chariot wheels, though any feeling he had had for her was long since dead.
Ragna's entrance put a stop to further explanations, and Angelescu excused himself, saying that he must attend to the neglected writing of the afternoon. So the other two were left with the deck to themselves.
It was a perfect evening, the full moon hung low in an almost cloudless sky and the broad silver pathway over the water looked like a carpet laid for a procession of fairies. Ragna hung over the rail in an ecstasy of appreciative joy.
"Oh, isn't it just like Heaven!" she murmured.
"I can't say," answered Mirko, "never having been there, but it would make a good setting for a love scene. Imagine it for a honeymoon!"
"I must answer like Your Highness," laughed Ragna, "never having had a honeymoon I can't very well imagine one."
"Then look at the lovers in the moon."