“Oh, one knows that the rules are not always strictly kept,” confessed Parthenios unwillingly. “But you and Lady Danaë are not even betrothed, lord! For the sake of the unfortunate girl herself, make no further attempt to see her at present. Have you not done harm enough yet—though I trust we may manage to avert a scandal?”
This appeal put things in a new light to Armitage, but it must be confessed that it did not keep him from trying to effect his object by enlisting Narkissos on his side. Influenced by fellow-feeling, Narkissos accepted the office of sounding Angeliké as to the possibility of bringing Danaë to speak to her suitor for five minutes, and did his part faithfully. Angeliké received the suggestion dubiously, but promised to lay it before her sister, and returned to announce with great severity of manner that Danaë was shocked by the request, and could not dream of acceding to it. Armitage was perplexed at first, but the scene in the dungeon had implanted a certain doubt of Angeliké in his mind, and he reflected sagely that it was quite possible his entreaty had never gone beyond her.
Great was the excitement in Strio on the wedding-day of the Despot’s two daughters. It detracted a little from the interest of the occasion that both the bridegrooms should be foreigners, for to the stern local patriotism of the islanders Tortolana seemed little nearer than England, but the alliances were so infinitely superior to any the island itself could have offered that regret was stifled. Narkissos, sniffing delicately at a bunch of basil, followed by his train of gaily dressed friends, would naturally have been the favourite, but Armitage, determined to do all possible honour to his bride, brought with him an escort of armed sailors from the yacht, whose smart appearance worked havoc with the hearts of the female population. So, too, Danaë easily carried off the honours as the better behaved of the brides. Custom demanded that she should appear absolutely miserable in the prospect of leaving her childhood’s home, and she embodied the ideal so faithfully that Armitage started when he saw her.
“At this rate I shall never need to hire a model for Tragedy,” he said dolefully to himself, having caught Princess Christodoridi’s proud whisper to a newly arrived matron that Danaë had eaten nothing either that day or the day before. Her hand was cold and listless when the rings were exchanged in the betrothal ceremony, and when she retired to put on the gown he had sent her in preparation for the actual marriage service, there was not a sign of triumph in her face, though she returned wearing a silk which turned every woman in the room pale with envy. Angeliké was wearing the coveted blue and citron stripes, but Danaë’s gown was crimson shot with gold, with fleeting glimpses of blue and straw-colour, green and purple, as she moved. It was the richest silk that had ever been seen in Strio, and Angeliké’s looked poor and colourless beside it. But Angeliké and her bridegroom took their part in the service with the utmost zest, going through the crowning and the feeding with bread dipped in wine, the running round the altar and the pelting with sweets, as if it was a highly enjoyable game, which was entirely contrary to etiquette, but awoke a sympathetic chord in the bystanders. While she and Narkissos were being kissed, generally on the artificial flowers of their wreaths, by as many friends as could get near them, and the younger members of the congregation were scrambling for the sweets, Danaë, finding herself and her bridegroom for the moment unobserved, turned to him and addressed him in a tragic whisper.
“Lord, you know I would not have married you if I could have helped it?”
“I was afraid I couldn’t flatter myself it was otherwise,” he replied drily. “I hope I don’t look as if I disliked it quite as much as you do?”
To his delight Danaë lifted her eyes from the floor for the first time, and looked up at him wonderingly. “Is it possible to appear happy when the heart is oppressed with misery, lord?”
“I can’t see myself, you know. Don’t you think I am doing it rather well? entirely for your sake, of course.”
“Will you do something else for me, lord?” She declined to respond to his opening, and he wondered uneasily whether she thought he had spoken in earnest.
“To the half of my kingdom, lady.”