"Have I ever blamed you?" she asked.
"Dehra," said I, "if you look at me like that I shall kiss you now."
She closed her eyes a trifle more. "Where, Armand?" she said. "You
have been kissing my hair every time I let it touch your lips."
"Let it touch them again, then," I whispered.
She turned her head sharply from me and, then, slowly back again; and
her perfumed tresses, dressed low on her neck, brushed full and hard
across my face, from cheek to cheek.
"There, cousin," said she; "am I not good?"
"Not entirely, when you call me 'cousin,'" I said, looking her in the
eyes.
"Your Highness, then," she smiled.
"Worse still."
"Marshal."
"No better."
"Marshal would please most men," she said.
"There is only one name from you will please me, now," I answered.
She quite closed her eyes. "You are an autocrat to-night, Armand," she
murmured.
"I'm your lover, sweetheart; your lover to-night and always," I said
impetuously.
She opened her eyes wide and looked into mine with that calm, deep
search which only a good woman has power to use. I knew, and trembling
waited. What she saw in my eyes then she would see there always--in
storm, in sunshine--in youth and in old age.
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