“Noble sir,” I replied, “your knowledge of Penguin character is truly worthy of your fame. I will gladly accept your generous offer, trusting that my youth and inexperience may excuse my many shortcomings.”
“Stay, are you married?”
“No, your Majesty, I am a bachelor.”
“He is a bachelor!” cried the King, turning towards the ladies, who at once, and for the first time, overwhelmed me with their fond gaze.
“A bachelor! a bachelor!” cried a chorus of voices, “what a dreadful creature!”
“Hush!” said the King, “we have cured worse maladies. There is my daughter.”
“But, Sire,” I protested, “my heart is lost to another.”
“The remark is worthy of your modesty. You shall wed my daughter; the notion suits me; it is a question of privilege, not of heart.”
I so little expected this proposal, that I remained mute with amazement.
“He who says nothing, consents,” said the King. Before I had time to decide, my eyes met those of the princess. It was but for a moment. The god of love had kindled a perfect conflagration in her breast. Everything was arranged before I could say no, so engrossed was I with my own reflections. That momentary glance had evidently sealed my fate. So far as one’s after-life is concerned, it had more effect in neutralising my happiness than if I had, from my earliest infancy, set myself the task of inventing the best means of blighting my peace.