I address you,
therefore, Lady Maggie, with formal words, while I keep back in my
heart much that is struggling to express itself. I have come to ask you
to do me the great honour of becoming my wife."
Maggie sat for a few moments speechless. The thing which she had half
dreaded and half longed for--the low timbre of his caressing voice--was
entirely absent. Yet, somehow or other, his simple, formal words were at
least as disturbing. He leaned towards her, a quiet, dignified figure,
anxious yet in a sense confident. He had the air of a man who has
offered to share a kingdom.
"Your wife," Maggie repeated tremulously.
"The thought is new to you, perhaps," he went on, with gentle tolerance.
"You have believed the stories people tell that in my youth I was vowed
to celibacy and the priesthood. That is not true. I have always been
free to marry, but although to-day we figure as a great progressive
nation, many of the thousand-year-old ideas of ancient China have dwelt
in my brain and still sit enshrined in my heart. The aristocracy of
China has passed through evil times. There is no princess of my own
country whom I could meet on equal terms. So, you see, although it
develops differently, there is something of the snobbishness of your
western countries reflected in our own ideas."
"But I am not a princess," Maggie murmured.
"You are the princess of my soul," he answered, lowering his eyes for a
moment almost reverently.
Pages:
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211