"I know that you are the Prince of Graustark and that it is ordained that you shall wed one whose station is the equal of your own. You must think well, dear Rex, before you ask Bedelia Guile to be your wife."
"You know that I am—" he began, dully, and then burst into a mirthless laugh. "And knowing who I am, why do you not leap at the chance to become the Princess of Graustark? Why not realise an ambition that—"
"Hush! You see how well I considered when I advised you to think before speaking? You are now saying things that are unworthy of you. You are forgetting that it is my privilege to say no to the am in search of happiness. I too—"
He stood up, leaning far over the table, a penetrating look in his eyes.
"How long have you known, Bedelia?"
"Since the second day out on the Jupiter," she replied serenely.
He slowly resumed his seat, overwhelmed by the sickening realisation that his bubble had burst. She had known from the beginning. She had played with him. She had defied him!
"I know what you are thinking, Rex," she said, almost pleadingly. "You are thinking ill of me, and you are unjust. It was as fair for me as it was for you. We played a cautious game. You set about to win my love as you saw fit, my friend, and am I to be condemned if I exercised the same privilege? I was no more deliberate, no more reprehensible than you. Am I more guilty of deceit than you?"
He gave a great sigh of relief. "You are right," he said. "It is my turn to confess. I have known for many days that you are not Bedelia Guile. We are quits."
She laughed softly. "I rather like Bedelia. I think I shall keep it as a good-luck name. We have now arrived at the time for a profound contemplation of the results of our experiments. In the meantime, I have had no dinner. I trust that the Prince of Graustark has dined so lightly that he will not decline to share my repast with me. It has already been ordered—for two."