“Coquettish like all of your sex!” said Craven Black, drawing nearer to her. “You understand my meaning, Neva? You know that I love you—I who never loved before—”
“Surely,” cried Neva, with an arch sparkle in her red-brown eyes, “you did not perjure yourself when you married the mother of your son?”
Craven Black bit his lips fiercely, but said smilingly:
“That marriage was one of convenience. No love entered into it, on my side, at least. I never loved till I met you, fair Neva. You have younger suitors, but not one among them all who will be to you what I would be—your slave, your minister, your subject.”
“And I should want my husband to be my king,” murmured Neva softly. “And I would be his queen.”
“That arrangement would suit me perfectly,” declared Craven Black, feeling a little awkward at his love-making, not altogether sure Neva was not secretly laughing at him, yet eagerly catching at the assistance her words afforded him. “I would be your king, Miss Neva—”
He paused in anger, as the girl’s light laugh made music in his ears that he by no means appreciated. His anger deepened, as Neva looked at him with a bright sauciness, a piquant witchery of eyes and mouth.
“You are very kind,” the girl laughed, “but I do not think—pardon me, Mr. Black—that you are of the stuff of which kings of the kind I meant are made!”
Craven Black’s fair face flushed. He tugged at his light beard with nervous fingers. An angry light glowered in his light eyes.
“I may not know the full meaning of your words, Miss Neva,” he said, forcing himself to speak calmly. “A romantic young girl like you is sure to have many fancies which time will prune. A young girl’s fancy is like the overflowing of some graceful rose-tree. When time shall have picked off a bud here, a leaf there, or a half-blown rose elsewhere, the remainder of the blossoming will be more perfect. I am no knight of romance, but I am not aware that there is anything ridiculous in my face or figure. Ladies of the world have smiled graciously upon me, and more than one peeress would have taken my name had I but asked her. My heart is fresh and young, full of romantic visions like yours. My love is honest, and a king could offer no better. Miss Wynde, I ask you to be my wife!”