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“Why, then,” said Jeremy proudly, “I’ll play the prince.”
A glorious smile swept into his darling’s face.
“And they lived happily,” she breathed.
Jeremy nodded.
“Ever after,” he whispered.
SIMON
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SIMON
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“Oh, Simon dear,” said Patricia, “why aren’t you rich?”
“If it comes to that,” said Simon ruefully, “why are you poor? You’ve less excuse than I have. At least, your mother was an American.”
“Yes, but she married for love—and got cut off for it. Which is why her poor little girl must marry money.”
Simon Beaulieu regarded the firmament. This was arrayed in black and silver. There was no moon: only the countless stars at all lightened the darkness, their dim, peculiar radiance turning the countryside into a kingdom of dreams. As though to indorse such witchcraft, the strains of a distant valse stole in and out of earshot, rising and falling into the trough of Silence, intoning a love-sick litany and rendering exquisitely the mystery of the hour. The air was magically still and quick with the sweet perfume of new-mown hay. Midsummer Night had come to Castle Breathless in all her glory.