Then she grew grave all at once, for it occurred to
her that she had perhaps made a mistake in putting the idea into his
head.
"At least," she said, as if correcting herself, "that is what they used
to say last year."
"You are quite mad," he said, without a smile. "I cannot imagine how
such an absurd idea could have suggested itself to you. In the first
place, the Queen would never look at a poor Englishman like me--"
"I defy any woman not to look at you," said Beatrix.
"Why?" he asked, with, curiosity.
"Is this more simplicity, or is it more dulness?"
"Both, I suppose," answered Gilbert, in a hurt tone. "You are very
witty."
"Oh, no!" she exclaimed. "Wit is quite another thing."
Then her tone changed and her face softened wonderfully as she took his
hand.
"I am glad that you do not believe it," she said; "and I am glad that
you do not care to be thought handsome. But I think it is true that the
Queen loves you, and if she sent to England for me, that was merely in
order to bring you back to France. Of course she could not know--"
She checked herself, and he, of course, asked what she had meant to
say, and insisted upon knowing.
"The Queen could not know," she said at last, "that we should seem so
strange to each other when we met."
"Do I seem so strange to you?" he asked, in a sorrowful tone.
"No," she answered, "it is the other way. I can see that you expected
me to be very different."
"Indeed, I did not," answered Gilbert, with some indignation.
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