“Or else there’ll be trouble—eh?” laughed her mother.
But the girl had disappeared to join the man who loved her, and who was waiting below.
In the bright August moonlight they strolled together as far as Hove, where they sat upon a seat outside the Lawns. The evening was perfect, and there were many passers-by, mostly couples more or less amatory.
Never had a girl so attracted him as had Mary that calm and glorious night. Never had he looked into a woman’s eyes and seen there love reflected as in hers. They rose and strolled back again, back to the pier which they traversed to its head. There they found a seat unoccupied, and rested upon it.
And there, taking her little hand tenderly in his, he blurted forth, in the blundering words of a blundering man, the story of his affection.
She heard him in silence to the end.
“I—I think, Prince, you have not fully considered what all this means. What—”
“It means, Mary, that I love you—love you deeply and devotedly as no other man has ever loved a woman! I am not given to ecstasies over affection, for I long ago thought every spark of it was dead within my heart. I repeat, however, that I love you.” And ere she could prevent him, he had raised her hand and pressed it to his lips.
She tried to withdraw it, but he held it firmly. The moon shone full upon her sweet face, and he noticed how pale and beautiful she looked. She gave him one glance, and in that instant he saw the light of unshed tears. But she was silent, and her silence puzzled him.
“Ah!” he sighed despondently. “Am I correct, then, in suspecting that you already have a lover?”