Paul obeyed mechanically, his gaze still upon her. She shrank from the expression of his eyes—it was the old tiger-look again!
"I came because I had to, Opal. I could not have done otherwise. I have something to tell you."
"Something to tell me?" she repeated.
"Yes. The most interesting story in the world to me, Opal—a letter from my mother—a letter to me alone, which I can share with only one woman in the world—the woman I love!"
Her eyes fell. As she raised her hand abstractedly to adjust the curtain, Paul saw the flash of her betrothal ring. He caught her hand in his and quietly slipped the ring from her finger. She seized the jewel with her free hand and tried to thrust it into her bosom.
"No! no!—not there!" he remonstrated, and was not satisfied until she had crossed the room and hidden it from his sight.
"Does that please your majesty?" she asked, with a curious little tremble in her voice.
Paul started, and stared at her with a world of wonder in his eyes. Could she know?
"Your majesty—" he stammered.
"Why not?" she laughed. "You speak as though you had but to command to be obeyed."