"I will not call you anything—instead of calling you, I will kiss you—so—is it not better than any name?"
A deep blush spread over Flavia's face and then subsided suddenly, leaving her very pale. For a long time neither spoke again.
"Did your father tell you the news before we left?" asked San Giacinto at last, when they were rolling over the Campagna along the Via Latina.
"No—what?"
"It is somewhat remarkable news. If you are afraid of fainting," he added, with rough humour, "hold your bottle of salts ready."
Flavia looked up uneasily, wondering whether there were anything wrong about San Giacinto. She knew very well that her father had been glad to get rid of her.
"I am not San Giacinto after all," he said quietly. Flavia started and drew back.
"Who are you then?" she asked quickly.
"I am Prince Saracinesca, and you are the princess." He spoke very calmly, and watched her face to see the effect of the news.
"I wish you were!" she exclaimed nervously. She wondered whether he was going mad.