"A--a princess?" whispered the girl, who had drawn pictures of
thousands but was a little startled to realise that such fabled
creatures really exist.
"Is she very beautiful?" she added.
"She's tremendously pretty."
"Her--clothes are very beautiful, I suppose," ventured Rue.
"Well--they're very--smart. Everything about her is smart. Her Sunday
night suppers are wonderful. You meet people who do things--all
sorts--everybody who is somebody."
He turned to her frankly: "I think myself very lucky that the Princess Mistchenka should be my
friend, because, honestly, Miss Carew, I don't see what there is in me
to interest such a woman."
Rue thought she could see, but remained silent.
"If I had my way," said Neeland, a few moments later, "I'd drop
illustrating and paint battle scenes. But it wouldn't pay, you see."
"Couldn't you support yourself by painting battles?"
"Not yet," he said honestly. "Of course I have hopes--intentions----"
he laughed, drew his reins; the silvery chimes clashed and jingled and
flashed in the moonlight; they had arrived.
At the door he said: "I hope some day you'll have a chance to take lessons. Thank you for
dancing with me.... If you ever do come to New York to study, I hope
you'll let me know."
"Yes," she said, "I will."
He was halfway to his sleigh, looked back, saw her looking back as she
entered the lighted doorway.
"Good night, Rue," he said impulsively, warmly sorry for her.
"Good night," she said.
The drop of Irish blood in him prompted him to go back to where she
stood framed in the lighted doorway. And the same drop was no doubt
responsible for his taking her by the waist and tilting back her head
in its fur hood and kissing her soft, warm lips.
She looked up at him in a flushed, bewildered sort of way, not
resisting; but his eyes were so gay and mischievous, and his quick
smile so engaging that a breathless, uncertain smile began to edge her
lips; and it remained stamped there, stiffening even after he had
jumped into his cutter and had driven away, jingling joyously out into
the dazzling moonshine.
* * * * *
In bed, the window open, and the covers pulled to her chin, Rue lay
wakeful, living over again the pleasures of the evening; and Neeland's
face was always before her open eyes, and his pleasant voice seemed to
be sounding in her ears. As for the kiss, it did not trouble her.
Girls she went with were not infrequently so saluted by boys. That,
being her own first experience, was important only in that degree. And
she shyly thought the experience agreeable. And, as she recalled,
revived, and considered all that Neeland had said, it seemed to her
that this young man led an enchanted life and that such as he were
indeed companions fit for princesses.