“I have waited for some time,” he reminded her.
“All the more reason why you should wait until the right time,” she insisted. “Be patient for a little longer, do. Just now I feel that I need a friend more than I have ever needed one before. Don’t let me lose the one I value most. In a few weeks’ time you shall say whatever you like, and, at any rate, I will listen to you. Will you be content with that?”
“Yes!” he answered.
She laid her fingers upon his arm.
“I am dancing this with Captain Wilmot,” she said. “Will you come and bring me back here afterwards, unless you are engaged?”
The Prince found her alone in the winter garden, for Somerfield, when he had seen him coming, had stolen away. He came towards her quickly, with the smooth yet impetuous step which singled him out at once as un-English. He had the whole room to cross to come to her, and she watched him all the way. The corners of his lips were already curved in a slight smile. His eyes were bright, as one who looks upon something which he greatly desires. Slender though his figure was, his frame was splendidly knit, and he carried himself as one of the aristocrats of the world. As he approached, she scanned his face curiously. She became critical, anxiously but ineffectively. There was not a feature in his face with which a physiognomist could have found fault.
“Dear young lady,” he said, bowing low, “I come to you very humbly, for I am afraid that I am a deceiver. I shall rob you of your pleasure, I fear. I have put my name down for four dances, and, alas! I do not dance.”
She made room for him by her side.
“And I,” she said, “am weary of dancing. One does nothing else, night after night. We will talk.”
“Talk or be silent,” he answered softly. “Myself I believe that you are in need of silence. To be silent together is a proof of great friendship, is it not?”