“And one day a Princess came, with hair as dark as night, and eyes that were unfair, they were so big, and—and silk stockings, and all. And she recognized the poor boy (sic) and, because she had a nice, soft heart, she came and had tea with him, instead of visiting the castle.”
“And the silly part of it was,” said Spring, “that she wasn’t a Princess at all, but an ordinary, poor girl, who was——”
“She was a Princess,” said Bagot. “She hadn’t got the riches or the Court she should have had, but—oh, anyone could see she was a Princess.”
“Any way, the boy treated her like one, which was very nice for her, and, when the time came for her to go——”
“The boy lost his wits,” said Bagot steadily, “and made a fool of himself.” Spring turned and looked at him. “You’ll never guess what he did. He forgot that he was no longer lord of the castle. It wasn’t altogether his fault, because the presence of the Princess had made his cottage all glorious. Be that as it may, he thought how wonderful it would be if only—the—Princess—didn’t—go. . . . And when he came to his senses and saw what a madman he’d been, the idea was so precious, that he couldn’t get it out of his head. You see, she’d seen what his life was, and she seemed to understand, and she did like Chancery, and he had two hundred a year, as well as his wages, and he could be home by half-past four every day, and there was a bathroom upstairs, and——” He stopped short there, and clapped his hands to his temples. Then he burst out tempestuously. “Oh, Spring, darling, why did you ever come to dazzle my wretched eyes? You couldn’t stick it, I know. It’s absurd, grotesque, comic. The clothes you’re wearing are worth more than I earn in a year. I’m mad—raving.” He sank his head upon his chest and put out his hand. “Give me your blessed fingers to kiss before you go, and then—go as you came, my sweet, like a breath of air, like a perfume out of the night. I’ll try and think it’s been a dream—a wonderful, golden dream, which the good gods sent me, to make my memory rich. You know. When first you wake, you could weep to think it isn’t true; but, after a while, you’re grateful for just the dream.”
Spring put down her face and kissed his hand.
Then she slid off the sill and put her arms round his neck.
“Why d’you think I came back that day? Why d’you think I left my bag in the gallery? Why d’you think I’ve come here? Because I love you, Willoughby—loved you before you loved me. I don’t care what you’ve got, or what you haven’t. I only want to share your life.”
“My wonderful darling,” said Bagot, and kissed her mouth.