Part 23 (1/2)

Side by side they strolled through the quaint village of stone houses and to the top of a near-by hill, where they found themselves looking down upon Joigny outlined against the hazy tints of the pink-and-gold horizon.

”Oh, it's beautiful!” she exclaimed enthusiastically. ”It's a fairy world.”

”Better; it's a real world,” he answered.

”I doubt it, Monte,” she disagreed, with a touch of regret. ”It's too perfect.”

It would not last. It would begin to fade in a moment, even as her fairy prince would fade and become just Monte. She knew from the past.

Besides, it was absolutely essential that this should not last. If it did--why, that would be absurd. It would be worse. It made her uncomfortable even to imagine this possibility for a moment, thus bringing about the very condition most unfavorable for fairy princes.

For, if there is one advantage they have over ordinary princes, it is the gift of keeping their princesses always happy and content.

Somewhat shyly she glanced up at Monte. He was standing with his uninjured hand thrust into the pocket of his Norfolk jacket, staring fixedly at the western sky as if he had lost himself there. She thought his face was a bit set; but, for all that, he looked this moment more as she had known him at twenty-one than when he came back at twenty-two. After his travels of a year he had seemed to her so much wiser than she that he had instantly become her senior. She had listened to him as to a man of the world, with something of awe. It was more difficult then to have him for a prince, because princes, though brave and adventurous, must not be too wise.

She smiled as she realized that, as he stood there now, Monte did not in the least inspire her with awe or fear or a sense of superior wisdom. The mellow light softened his features and the light breeze had tousled his hair, so that for all his years told he might have been back in his football days. He had been like that all the afternoon.

A new tenderness swept over her. She would have liked to reach up her hand and smooth away the little puzzled frown between his brows. She almost dared to do it. Then he turned.

”You're right,” he said, with a shrug of his shoulders. ”It is n't real. See, it's fading now.”

The pink clouds were turning a dull gray.

”Perhaps it's better it should,” she suggested. ”If it stayed like that all the time, we'd get so used to it we would n't see it.”

He took out his watch.

”I ordered supper to be ready in a half hour,” he said. ”We'd better get back.”

She fell in step by his side--by the side of her fairy prince. For, oddly enough, he had not begun to fade as the sunset faded. The twilight was deepening into the hushed night--a wonderful night that was like beautiful music heard at a distance. It left her scarcely conscious of moving. In the sky the stars were becoming clearer; in the houses, candles were beginning to twinkle. It was difficult to tell which were which--as if the sky and the earth were one.

There was no abrupt change even when they came into the inn, where near the open window a table had been set and two candles were burning.

”Oh,” she exclaimed again, ”here is another bit of fairy world.”

He laughed abruptly.

”I hope the supper is real, anyhow,” he said.

He spoke as if making a conscious effort to break the spell. It made her glance up as he seated her; but all she thought of then was that she would like to smooth back his hair. The spell was not broken.

Chops and cauliflower and a salad were served to them, with patties of fresh b.u.t.ter and crusted white bread. She was glad to see him eat heartily. She prepared his salad with a dash of salt and pepper, a little vinegar and oil. That much, at least, she was at liberty to do for him. It gave her a new pleasure.

”Monte,” she asked, ”do you suppose it's always as nice as this here?”

”If it were, would you like to stay?” he asked.

She thought a moment over that. Would it be possible just to drift on day after day, with Monte always a fairy prince beside her? She glanced up and met his eyes.

”I--I guess it's best to follow our schedule,” she decided, with a little gasp.

CHAPTER XIII