“Yes, and lost. But he was heaps cleverer now. He remembered that the real princess had a fairy mark on her right shoulder, that no one could see. What’s the matter, Shahzadi?” “Nothing. Why?” “I thought you were slipping off the couch.” “I wasn’t,” very indignantly. “I’m paying for my story all right. I never cheat.” She edged back quite half an inch on to the couch again. “Well, he decided that, if he could find the mark and also read the lady’s thoughts correctly, he would know if she really was the princess. So he waited for many days looking for a really good opportunity.” “Yes. Very many days.” “Until finally he thought that he had hit the right time. So one evening he got very close to the lady he thought was the princess.” “By a trick!” “As you say, by a trick. I said he was getting clever. He managed to get quite close to her, and then he put his arm round her so that she couldn’t get away--like that.” Aryenis suffered it. “And then he wondered whether the first thing would be to read her thoughts or to look for the fairy mark. But he decided that the important point was first to see if she had the proper mark. So he drew her closer.” Aryenis kept her face resolutely turned away. I wonder she didn’t get a crick in her neck. Besides, it must be painful to have some one speaking right into your ear. “Pulled her quite close, and then--I wonder what he did then.” No answer. “Well, he very rudely--really quite rudely--slipped her low-necked frock a little lower down--so--and there, if you please, was the fairy mark.” It was there. A little pink scar hitherto hidden by her dress, a tiny, straight, nowise unsightly cut across the ivory of her skin, now rose-pink in the firelight against the white silk and dainty mauve ribbons suddenly disclosed. Aryenis was very still, but unresisting as I turned her dear face round. “And then he was nearly sure, but to be quite certain he decided to read her thoughts. And when he looked into her eyes he saw that she was wondering which--” I stopped, and Aryenis looked up at me with eyes half-veiled under the drooping lids. “Which?” she whispered, as I remained silent. “Which--he would--kiss first. The fairy mark or her lips?” And then I knew that I won my bet. For a moment Aryenis did nothing, just lay quite still in my arms, one beautiful shoulder gleaming in the firelight, looking up at me with eyes now wholly dark and a mouth a thousand times more kissable than I had ever known it before. Then a slim arm that seemed made of live fire slipped round my neck, drawing my head down. I suppose it was really a very long time after that before we returned to mere commonplaces of speech. An altogether new and even more completely adorable Aryenis cuddled cosily against me--an entirely surrendered Aryenis, with flushed cheeks and disgracefully and very beautifully untidy hair. “Are you aware that you’ve lost your bet, sweetheart?” said I at last.