Even now she hardly understood what I would have, or, understanding, could not believe that she understood rightly.
"You mean—leave—leave London and go with you? With you alone?"
"Yes—alone with your husband."
She pulled her hand away with a jerk, crying, "You're mad!"
"May be. Let me be mad, and be mad yourself also, sweetheart. If both of us are mad, what hurt?"
"What, I—I go—I leave the town—I leave the Court? And you?—You're here to seek your fortune!"
"Mayn't I dream that I've found it?" And again I caught her hand.
After a moment she drew nearer to me; I felt her fingers press mine in tenderness.
"Poor Simon!" said she with a little laugh. "Indeed he remembers Cydaria well. But Cydaria, such as she was, even Cydaria is gone. And now I am not she." Then she laughed again, crying, "What folly!"