He sighed too.
“Always? I know not. It may chance to include that natural correlation of sympathies, that perfect soul affinity, which was no doubt in the original scheme of things before the Fall. Blest, immeasurably blest the nuptials in that case; yet how rare a coincidence! A man and woman, both virgin, both unspoiled, may here and there find, as predestined, their rapturous conjunction, and so achieve themselves in flawless unity. But, for the most part, we must be resigned to forgo that heavenly encounter until, caught fast in alien bonds, we meet and recognize for the first time our elective affinities. Too late, then? I cannot say. Only is it possible that Heaven could blame us for consummating its own ideal at the expense of the social conventions made by man? Ah! if we could only, in the first instance, be safe to meet with her, the heartfelt, the unmistakable, the lovely ordained perfecter of our imperfect beings! What happiness would be added to the world and what sin avoided!” His very voice was like a wooing confidence. He bent to gaze into her face. “Ill-mated! Alike in that, at least,” he said, and sought her hand again. “Come, sweet soul, be seated, and let me play to you once more.”
Kate started, as if to an electric shock.
“No, your Highness.”
“You will not?”
“I must not. Let me call my brother.”
He intercepted her. “Say at least I may visit you again—see you—speak to you.” He spoke low and vehemently.
“No, no,” she said, almost weeping—“not now. O, let me go, Sir! I was wrong to complain—wrong to encourage you.”
She made past him, and hurried to the open window. “Richard!” she cried. “Richard! How long you are! His Highness waits the flowers with impatience.”
Arran had no choice but to obey. She saw his companion, with a pert laugh and toss of the head, thrust the nosegay into his hand, and watch him, with a mocking lip, as he retreated from her. And the next moment he was in the room.