"No," he said in a low voice, "you can't want to shake hands with—with such a hopeless rotter as I've been!"
"I shouldn't," she replied, "if I weren't sure that you could be something very much better if you chose. And I know you will choose."
"I will," he said, "I swear I will—if I ever get the chance!"
"Your chance will come. Quite soon, perhaps. And when it does, remember that I believe in you—and, good-bye, Clarence."
"Good-bye—Daphne," he said brokenly. As he took her hand he thought with a keen pang that he had never held it before, and never would again. And the time had been—or so at least he imagined—when he might have made that hand his own for ever!
"Good night, Mirliflor," said Daphne, as he held aside the hangings for her. "We shall meet to-morrow."
She passed into the great Hall with a dignity the more charming for being so natural and unconscious—and that was the last Clarence was ever destined to see of her.
He turned to Mirliflor, whose eyes still betrayed the pride he felt in his beloved. "I don't mind telling you, old chap—er—Prince Mirliflor, that I took to you from the start, and—as I can't be the lucky man myself, I'm jolly glad it's to be you!"
"Thank you," said Mirliflor, who was less given to florid phrases than the average Fairy Prince. "So am I."
"I dare say," Clarence went on, as he realised the contrast between his own clothes and the magnificent costume that the old Fairy had provided for her royal godson, "I dare say you're thinking we're not looking very smart?"