“See,” he said, “Loisé hath sent thee this.”
He unrolled a packet of broad, dried palm leaves, and taking from it a thick necklet of sweet-smelling kurahini buds, placed it in Brice's hand.
He knew its meaning—it was the gift of a woman to an accepted lover.
The perfume of the flowers brought back her face to him in a moment. There was a brief struggle in his mind; and then home, friends, his future prospects in the great outside world, went to the wall, and the half-blood had won.
Slowly he raised the token and placed it over his head and round his neck.
In the morning she came. He held out his hand and drew her to him, and looking down into her eyes, he kissed her. Her lips quivered a little, and then the long lashes fell, and he felt her tremble.
“Loisé,” he said simply, “will you be my wife?”
She glanced up at him, fearfully.
“Would you marry me?”