"Pray God I have taught you to forget!"
Nehal Singh had meanwhile taken Stafford's place at Beatrice's side.
As he had entered the alcove she had made an effort to pass out, but
her eyes had met his, and the look in them had held her rooted to the
ground. The color died and deepened by turns in her cheeks, and the
hand that clasped the ivory fan shook as it had never shaken before in
the course of a life full of risks and dangers. But then no man had
ever looked at her as this man did. She had outstared insolence and
snubbed sentimentality. She had never had to face such an honest,
pure-hearted worship as this young prince brought and laid silently at
her feet. No need for him to tell her that she embodied every virtue
and every perfection of which human nature is capable. She knew it,
and the knowledge broke the very backbone of her daring and stirred to
life in her sickened soul emotions which she could scarcely recognize
as her own.
He stood quite close to her, but he did not touch her. In all their
acquaintance he had never, except when he had taken her hand in
farewell, made any attempt to draw nearer to her than the strictest
etiquette allowed. Other men--men whom she hardly knew--had taken the
opportunity which a ride or drive offered to kiss her, and had been
offended and surprised at her contemptuous rebuff. (What girl in Marut
objected to being kissed?) This man had treated her as though she were
holy, an object to be respected and protected, not to be handled as a
common plaything; and her heart had gone out to him in gratitude and
admiration.
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