“I shall dance no more, Madame.”
“You are very severe, Monseigneur—or are you proud?”
“I am tired,” said William simply.
They returned slowly to the antechamber and reseated themselves on the carved seat where he had first found her.
Behind them a crescent of candles in a silver sconce lit her fair hair, her white shoulders, and the voluminous folds of her green velvet gown.
She unfurled her fan and gazed at herself in the little heart-shaped mirror in the centre of curling feathers.
“I think you are somewhat heartless,” she remarked. “Every lady in the ballroom wishes to dance with Your Highness—and I dare swear half of them are your admirers already.”
Glancing at him furtively she perceived that, in utter absence of vanity, he did not even colour.
“There are other cavaliers here, Madame.”