“My dearest!” he said, in ecstasy; and before she could draw back he had thrown his arms round her, and pressed a burning kiss on her lips.
“See,” said she, gently disengaging herself; “my father should be well pleased with us, for we have done just like the princes and princesses in our old national legends, and have drawn each other’s portraits.”
“Not exactly so,” added Siddha, “for they drew their own likenesses, and then exchanged with one another. But I think our way is much the best; theirs appears to me extravagant vanity, in our way of looking at it, or utterly aimless.”
“Fie!” said Iravati, reproachfully; “do you make such remarks on the writings of the ancients? Who knows if you will not next criticise our holy books!”
“And why not,” asked he, “if they here or there make mistakes, or show a want of taste, or——”
“But you are not, I hope, an unbeliever?”
“An unbeliever in what?”
“In the law of the Holy Veda, for example.”
“Come, dear one,” interrupted Siddha, laughing, “do not let us employ the few moments allowed us as many of our countrymen do, who can hardly meet each other without at once discussing theological and philosophical questions.”
“You are right,” she answered, “and I know of a game that is far prettier, and one that you also know.” And bending over the brink of the tank, she gathered a dark-blue lotus, and picking up a long leaf that lay on the ground, and weaving it into a kind of boat, she placed the lotus in it and let it float on the surface of the water, which was gently stirred by the falling fountain. “The lotus is my Siddha,” said she, half to herself; “let us see if he will remain faithful to me.”