“I? What shall I tell you, John. I will tell you anything you ask.”
“Tell me then of the fairy prince who awakened you indeed, and whom you are to follow through all the world. Tell me of him, that I may congratulate you and him together.”
Muriel gazed at him in wonder. If he had not spoken with such sweet seriousness, she would have thought he was jesting.
“You said you would tell me anything I asked,” said Harrington, gravely. “Tell me this, then.”
“I will, John,” she replied slowly. “I will tell you of him—when I find him. Not till then.”
She turned away, musing. It was Harrington’s turn now to look at her with wonder. What did she mean? He had never seen any tokens of duplicity in her, but what was this?
Just then in came Wentworth, smiling. Harrington saw her face light as she went toward him, and wondered if she had understood what he had said to her. That’s it, he thought; she could not have understood me.
“Ha, Muriel. Good afternoon,” burst out Wentworth in his airy way. “Excuse me for not coming up at once, but I was ransacking my boot. And see what I found. A damson stone. Take it, Harrington, and be happy.”
“Come, no nonsense, Richard,” said Muriel. “Let’s go up to the studio, and fence.”