“No,” she answered, “it is not nonsense. But if they were?”
He raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them. The touch of his hand, the absolute delicacy of the salute itself, made it unlike any other caress she had ever known or imagined.
“The world might have been happier for both of us,” he whispered.
Somerfield, sullen and discontented, came and looked at them, moved away, and then hesitatingly returned.
“Willmott is waiting for you,” he said. “The last was my dance, and this is his.”
She rose at once and turned to the Prince.
“I think that we should go back,” she said. “Will you take me to my aunt?”
“If it must be so,” he answered. “Tell me, Miss Penelope,” he added, “may I ask your aunt or the Duchess to bring you one day to my house to see my treasures? I cannot say how long I shall remain in this country. I would like you so much to come before I break up my little home.”
“Of course we will,” she answered. “My aunt goes nowhere, but the Duchess will bring me, I am sure. Ask her when I am there, and we can agree about the day.”
He leaned a little towards her.