"I met him in Oxford," she returned.
"I had your flowers in my Prayer Book in memory of that day we raised the Standard," said the young Prince, "and when my lord saw them, we being in chapel together, he did ask of them, and when he heard their history begged them from me. Does this anger you?"
"It is not becoming that Your Highness should tell me of it," faltered Margaret Lucas.
"You are too modest," smiled the Prince. "He is a gallant lord and a valiant, loyal soldier. He asked me, if I saw you, to give you his homages."
The lady stood silent, her eyes downcast, the quick blood coming and going in her noble face. Rupert waited.
"Have you no answer to the princely Marquess?" he asked.
Margaret Lucas lifted her head.
"Tell him to—keep—the flowers," she stammered.
With that she turned away as if she was frightened of having said too much; the young General laughed a little and went back towards the house, whistling the air of a German song.
Margaret stood staring over her shoulder after him; all the misfortunes of the State, of her own family, all the hideous sights and sad stories which had weighed her heart with black bitterness, the danger of her beloved brother, her own precarious situation—all these things were forgotten in one great flash of happiness.