At a point the Queen bade Donna Rusidda show Will the ancient trout which she had reared to such gigantic proportions by hand-feeding with frogs, saying that she would call when she needed her. And Donna Rusidda, understanding this only for a polite dismissal while affairs of state were being discussed, and having her brother’s permission to take with Will the liberty of an Englishwoman, kept at a decent distance for the rest of the afternoon.
Pretty soon the Queen sat down on a bandstand, that stood in the midst of the principal fountains, with open sides, but roofed in the Chinese style, of which she was so fond. Here, with the roof to protect them from the sun, they could be sure of no one approaching them unseen; and as fountains of almost every variety were playing with extreme beauty, it was quite natural to sit for a long hour to watch them. At a little distance off there was an arbour to protect Will and Donna Rusidda from the sun.
“W-Will,” said she, as they sat down, “is our friendship a success?”
“That is for you to say. How could it be otherwise for me, when it gives me the companionship of so charming a lady?”
“That does not follow: people can be too good friends as well as not good enough.”
“I hope that I have not presumed?”
“Oh no,” she replied: “you have been what I knew I could trust you to be—a model of honourable behaviour.”
“Have I been a dolt—a fool—in not recognising feelings for which I did not dare to hope?”
“On the contrary,” she said, with a touch of hauteur, “if you had flattered yourself that such feelings existed, and had presumed upon them, our friendship would have ended.”
(I could hardly believe my ears when Will described himself as having submitted tamely to such talk.)