She could not help smiling. His joyousness would not be denied.
"How splendid you are!" she said, her voice thrilling with a tone that could not be mistaken.
He put his hands upon her shoulders and looked down into the beautiful, upturned face, a genuinely serious note creeping into his voice when he spoke again.
"Don't misconstrue my light-heartedness, dearest. It's a habit with me, not a fault. I see the serious side to your affair--as you view it. You have promised to marry Vos Engo. You'll have to break that promise. He didn't save me. Colonel Quinnox would have accomplished it, in any event. He can't hold you to such a silly pledge. You--you haven't by any chance told him that you love him?" He asked this in sudden anxiety.
"Really, Truxton, I cannot discuss--"
"No, I'm quite sure you haven't," he announced contentedly. "You couldn't have done that, I know. Now, I want you to make me a promise that you'll keep."
"Oh, Truxton--don't ask me to say that I'll be your--" She stopped, painfully embarrassed.
"That will come later," he said consolingly. "I want you to promise, on your sacred word of honour, that you'll kiss no man until you've kissed me."
"Oh!" she murmured, utterly speechless.
"Promise!"
"I--I cannot promise that," she said in tones almost inaudible. "I am not sure that I'll ever--ever kiss anybody. How silly you are!"
"I'll make exception in the case of your brother--and, yes, the Prince."
"I'll not make such a promise," she cried.
"Then, I'll be hanged if I'll save you from the ridiculous mess you've gotten yourself into," he announced with finality. "Moreover, you're not yet safe from old Marlanx. Think it over, my--"
"Oh, he cannot seize the Castle--it is impossible!" she cried in sudden terror.
"I'm not so sure about that," he said laconically.
"What is it you really want me to say?" she asked, looking up with sudden shyness in her starry eyes.
"That you love me--and me only, Loraine," he whispered.
"I will not say it," she cried, breaking away from him. "But," as she ran to the steps, a delicious tremor in her voice--"I will consider the other thing you ask."
"Darling--don't go," he cried, in eager, subdued tones, but she already was half way across the balcony. In a moment she was gone. "Poor, harassed little sweetheart!" he murmured, with infinite tenderness. For a long time he stood there, looking at the window through which she had disappeared, his heart full of song.
Then, all at once, he remembered the meeting. "Great Scott!" in dismay. "I'm late for the pow-wow." A twisted smile stole over his face. "I wonder how they've managed to get along without me." Then he presented himself, somewhat out of breath, to the attendants at the south doors, where he had been directed to report. A moment later he was in the Castle of Graustark, following a stiff-backed soldier through mediæval halls of marble, past the historic staircase, down to the door of the council chamber. He was filled with the most delicious sensation of awe and reverence. Only in his dearest dreams had he fancied himself in these cherished halls. And now he was there--actually treading the same mosaic floors that had known the footsteps of countless princes and princesses, his nostrils tingling with the rare incense of five centuries, his blood leaping to the call of a thousand romances. The all but mythical halls of Graustark--the sombre, vaulted, time-defying corridors of his fancy. Somewhere in this vast pile of stone was the girl he loved. Each shadowy nook, each velvety recess, seemed to glow with the wizardry of love-lamps that had been lighted with the building of the Castle. How many hearts had learned the wistful lesson in these aged halls? How many loves had been sheltered here?