"Nothing compared with what I once hoped to be! Hoped—while, even then, I knew how impossible any hope was. And yet—and yet—what adds to my torment is that I know—yes, Daphne, I know—that—if—if by an evil fate I had not been what I am, I could have made you love me. I am very sure of that!"
She was looking at him as she spoke—and somehow she ceased to think him plain. And suddenly she knew that he had become necessary to her—so necessary that the thought of losing him was unendurable.
"And why," she said, "are you so sure that it is impossible now, Giroflé?"
"Daphne," he cried incredulously, "do you mean that you can love me—even as I am?"
She did not reply in words, but her face as she raised it to his was answer enough; and then he held her in his arms, into which she nestled with a little sigh of perfect content. He could not understand how so marvellous and unlooked for a thing could have happened to him, and Daphne herself might have been at some loss to account for her sudden surrender. But she did not try—she only knew that she had been quite powerless to help it, and did not regret it.
"And you will not go away from Eswareinmal now, Giroflé?" she said a little later, when they were sitting on a stone seat under an ilex, and the gold and silver stars were beginning to come out in the deep violet sky.
"Not alone, dearest," he replied. "But it will not be wise to stay here long. I was recognised this afternoon by that meddling old imbecile of a Court Chamberlain."
"Giroflé!" she exclaimed, clinging to him in terror, "will he give you up—can they do anything to you? If there's danger, let us escape at once—for of course I shan't let you go alone!"
"There's no danger," he said. "If he lets out that I am here, it would be—inconvenient, but no worse. And I think my—the Court Godmother will see me through it now. I will tell her our news to-morrow morning."
"I'm afraid," said Daphne, "she won't at all approve of my marrying you—she may even try to prevent it, but she won't succeed!"