“Are you serious?” he asked.
“Quite,” both said.
“And—me—a—I—myself, I mean; was I there too?”
Templemore’s manner when he asked this question was so humorously anxious that Ulama laughed—a joyous, ringing laugh, the token of a soul innocent and free from care.
“No, indeed,” she answered. “I never dreamed of you.”
“And you?” he asked, turning to Zonella.
“No, never;” and she too laughed merrily.
“It really doesn’t seem fair,” said Jack, with an injured air. “Waking or sleeping, my friend has been a dreamer all his life; when we met with Monella we found he was one of the same sort; so those two were on terms immediately; but I—I am out of it all. Never had a dream in my life worth remembering. Not only that, but—as it now seems—I can’t even get into other people’s. I put it to you, Princess, am I not a little hardly done by?”
Thus they laughed and chatted, and time passed on, and still Monella and the king were closeted together. It was more than an hour—nearer two—before the king returned; and then alone.