"But," explained the Princess, "I don't call it at all tiresome. It means your freedom, Sabine, and then you will be able to marry Henry. He absolutely worships the ground you tread on, and if anything had gone wrong, I think it would have simply killed him quite."
"Yes, I know," returned Sabine. "That thought is with me day and night."
"What do you mean, darling?"
"I mean that Henry's love frightens me, Morri. How shall I ever be able to live up to being the ideal creature he thinks that I am?" and Sabine gave a forced laugh.
"You are not a bad sort, you know," the Princess told her. "A man would be very hard to please if he was not quite satisfied with you!"
Moravia's own pain about the whole thing never clouded her sense of justice. Henry's love for her friend had been manifest from the very beginning, so she had never had any illusions or doubt about it; and if she had been so weak and foolish as to allow herself to fall in love with him, she must bear it and not be mean. Sabine certainly was not to blame.
"I—hope I shall satisfy him," Sabine sighed; "but I do not know. What does satisfy a man? Tell me, Moravia—you who understand them."
"It depends upon the man," and the Princess looked thoughtful. "I know now that if I had been clever I could have satisfied Girolamo for ages, by appearing to be always just a little out of his reach, so as to keep his hunting instinct alive. When a man is a very strong, passionate creature like that, it is the only way—make him scheme to get you to be lovely to him, make him wait, and never be sure if you are going to let him kiss you or no; and if you adore him really yourself, hide it, and let him feel always that he has to use his wits and all his charms to keep you. Oh! I could have been so happy if I had known these things in time!"
"Yes, Morri, but Henry is not—like that. How must I satisfy him?"
Moravia lay back in her chair and discoursed meditatively.