“As long as you’ve settled it all for them, you two,” said Ned, with confidential raillery, “perhaps you’d better hurry up the great event, so it can take place before I go back to Paris. Everything has to be sacrificed to my career, you know.”
He spoke with light mockery.
Hastings’ arm tightened around Elenore, and his pleading lost none of its force because it was silent.
The head on his shoulder gave a sudden gay, bewitching little nod.
“We consent to sacrifice ourselves,” Hastings called, jubilantly.
And the sound of applause drifted in through the open windows.
THE SONG
IN her castle by the sea
Dwelt the daughter of the king;
Sweet and beautiful was she
As a morn in Spring.