"Yes—yes," he said, brokenly, and he put out his hand, and took hers and pressed it. "Yes, you were always good to me—too good, Vi. I don't deserve that you should be so kind now, after leaving you all this time!"
"Never mind that," she murmured, and her voice was as soft and tender as only a woman's can be to the man she loves. "Don't let us think of that. I will be as kind as you like, Blair!"
The poor fellow's wounded heart was aching; his strength, mental and physical, broken down by illness and the long, dreary tramp; something suspiciously like tears shone in his eyes, and he raised her hand to his lips in speechless gratitude for her kindness and gentleness.
"Oh, not my hand, dear!" she murmured, and slipping down at his knees, she put up her lips.
Blair bent down and kissed her, as he was bound to do. He could not have done otherwise, and by that kiss he sealed his fate. And yet, even as he gave it, the sweet face of Margaret rose as plainly before him as if it were she and not Violet Graham who knelt at his feet.
[CHAPTER XXIV.]
Margaret went to her beautiful suit of rooms that night with a beating heart and a mind sorely troubled.
Prince Rivani had proposed to her!
It had come so unexpectedly that it overwhelmed her. There are a great many princes in Italy—they are commoner there than with us, but still a prince is a prince, and this one was amongst the best and highest of his order. Margaret had not dreamed that he would have condescended to bestow more than a passing and friendly thought upon the unknown English woman who dwelt in his house as the governess and companion to his sister.