She, at any rate, should have imbibed the national spirit. You
are looking at my curtains," he added, turning to Penelope. "Let
me show you the figures upon them, and I will tell you the
allegory."
He led her to the window, and explained to her for some moments
the story of the faded images which represented one chapter out
of the mythology of his country. And then she stopped him.
"Always," she said, "you and I seem to be talking of things that
are dead and past, or of a future which is out of our reach.
Isn't it possible to speak now and then of the present?"
"Of the actual present?" he asked softly. "Of this very moment?"
"Of this very moment, if you will," she answered. "Your fairy
tale the other night was wonderful, but it was a long way off."
The Prince was summoned away somewhat abruptly to bid farewell to
a little stream of departing guests. Today, more than ever, he
seemed to belong, indeed to the world of real and actual things,
for a cousin of his mother's, a Lady Stretton-Wynne, was helping
him receive his guests--his own aunt, as Penelope told herself
more than once, struggling all the time with a vague incredulity.
When he was able to rejoin her, she was examining a curious
little coffer which stood upon an ivory table.
"Show me the mystery of this lock," she begged. "I have been
trying to open it ever since you went away. One could imagine
that the secrets of a nation might be hidden here."
He smiled, and taking the box from her hands, touched a little
spring.
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