Igraine thrilled to a sudden thought—a thought of Pelleas. “I cannot tell,” she said.
Radamanth could have winked, only in his present exalted frame of mind he remembered that such an expression was neither dignified nor courtly. If he were to become the associate of noble folk, it behoved him to raise up new ideals, and so he contented himself with a most ingenuous smile.
“Hear, then,” he said, “that my noble visitor was the Count Gorlois.”
“Gorlois!”
“Exactly.”
Radamanth believed Igraine wholly overwhelmed. He waxed more and more patriarchal, till his very beard seemed to grow in dignity.
“Believe me, a most honourable man. Gentlemen of his position might well fancy other methods—well, never mind that. Count Gorlois came to me, like a man, to frankly crave my sanction for a betrothal.”
Igraine stared, admired Gorlois’s excellent plan for netting Faith, Hope, and Charity at one swoop, but said nothing. Radamanth prosed on.
“Count Gorlois besought me in most courtly and flattering fashion to countenance him in his claims. He would have everything done in the light, he said, in honourable, manly, and open fashion—no secret loitering after dark, or sly kisses under hedges. Mark the gentleman, dear niece.”