This time it is at Sligo Moultrie that Miss Grace Plumer looks fixedly.
“What kind of birds, Mr. Moultrie?” she says, at length.
“Miss Grace, do you know the story of the old Prince of Este?” answers he, as he lays a bunch of grapes upon her plate. She pulls one carelessly and lets it drop again. He takes it and puts it in his mouth.
“No; what is the story?”
“There was an old Prince of Este who had a beautiful villa and a beautiful sister, and nothing else in the world but a fiery eye and an eloquent tongue.”
Sligo Moultrie flushes a little, and drinks a glass of wine. Grace Plumer is a little paler, and more serious. Prince Abel plies Madame Plumer with fruit and compliments, and hears every word.
“Well.”
“Well, Miss Grace, she was so beautiful that many a lady became her friend, and many of those friends sighed for the brother’s fiery eyes and blushed as they heard his honeyed tongue. But he was looking for a queen. At length came the Princess of Sheba—”
“Are you talking of King Solomon?”
“No, Miss Plumer, only of Alcibiades. And when the Princess of Sheba came near the villa the Prince of Este entreated her to visit him, promising that the sister should be there. It was a pretty cage, I think; the sister was a lovely bird. And the Princess came.”