But something magnetic must have passed at that moment between these two young people, some subtle current from him to her, which forced the innocent young girl to raise her eyes almost against her will. He looked straight into their wonderful depths, and murmured softly,—
"The very bluest of the blue, and yet so grey, that I should feel they must somehow be green. . . ."
A little shudder had gone through her when first she met his ardent gaze; she tried to free herself from a sudden strange and delicious feeling of obsession, and said with somewhat forced merriment now:
"The Queen has greenish eyes, and Lady Ursula's are grey."
Then she held out the marguerite to him.
"Would you like to know which you love best?" she added. "Consult the marguerite, and take one petal at a time."
But he took the hand which held the flower.
"One petal at a time," he whispered. He took the slender fingers and kissed each in its turn: "This the softest . . . that the whitest . . . all rose-tipped . . . and a feast for the gods. . . ."
"My lord! . . ."
"Now you are frowning—you are not angry?"