But suddenly her face changed.
"The tower"—she whispered—"the tower of my dream ... Peter, tell me—it is true? It won't go ... fade away..." She clung to him like a frightened child.
"No—I swear it." A swift remorse moved him as he saw the tears well up in the eyes he loved. "Jill!—don't cry—for Heaven's sake. I meant it to be such a lovely surprise!—Why, my darling..."
She buried her face in his coat, struggling for control.
"It is!"—she sobbed—"it's too lovely! What a baby I am...!" she broke away—"It's ... the beauty—can't you understand?" She wiped her eyes defiantly.
"But—who are you?" she added slowly—"I don't see yet why it's yours."
"I'm the Marquis Maramonte," he said, "and you are my very dear liege lady."
For a moment she stared at him, amazed. Then, like a sunlit April shower, laughter stole into her eyes, still shining with her tears.
She clapped her hands. She danced for joy.
"Oh! what a gorgeous sell for Stephen!"