‘Why did you kiss her—that night?’ asked Prince Eugen carelessly.
‘Kiss whom?’ said Aribert, blushing and angry, despite his most determined efforts to keep calm and unconcerned.
‘The Racksole girl.’
‘When do you mean?’
‘I mean,’ said Prince Eugen, ‘that night in Ostend when I was ill. You thought I was in a delirium. Perhaps I was. But somehow I remember that with extraordinary distinctness. I remember raising my head for a fraction of an instant, and just in that fraction of an instant you kissed her. Oh, Uncle Aribert!’
‘Listen, Eugen, for God’s sake. I love Nella Racksole. I shall marry her.’
‘You!’ There was a long pause, and then Eugen laughed. ‘Ah!’ he said. ‘They all talk like that to start with. I have talked like that myself, dear uncle; it sounds nice, and it means nothing.’
‘In this case it means everything, Eugen,’ said Aribert quietly. Some accent of determination in the latter’s tone made Eugen rather more serious.
‘You can’t marry her,’ he said. ‘The Emperor won’t permit a morganatic marriage.’
‘The Emperor has nothing to do with the affair. I shall renounce my rights.