And he saw, and said, “Choose, my dear lady, choose!”
The moment had come.
She lifted her head wearily, clenched tighter on the jeweled edge of the throne, her lips moved difficultly to a word. “I choose—”
He bent nearer to catch her labored saying, his dark Eastern face tense and keen, his eyes excited, not unanxious. For he not only wanted his own way, but he intensely wished to have it in his own way.
“—then—to—”
Slowly her eyes left his face. Her words did not break or trail—they stopped. She lifted her face towards the clerestory slits, and listened. She listened—more intensely than ever at Lucknow a woman had listened—and an impalpable shimmer of hope dawned on Mrs. Crespin’s face.
The murmur of the crowd below sounded subdued. It broke, and ceased.
Were they listening too?
With a shriek of insane excitement, the wild overflow of self-control and despair undammed at last, the cowering woman sprang to her feet.
“Aeroplanes!” she cried. “The aeroplanes!” she shouted and laughed. “Basil! Basil! The aeroplanes!”