"I like you, too," she answered frankly, and the Very Young Man thought of Loto as she said it. He was leaning down towards her, and their hands met for an instant. The Very Young Man had spread his robe out to dry when he first got into the boat, and now he put it on while Aura steered. Then he sat beside her on the seat, taking the paddle again. "Do you go often to the theater?" she asked after a time. "Oh, yes, often." "Nothing like that do we have here," she added, a little wistfully. "Only once, when we played a game in the field beyond my brother's home. Lylda was the queen and I her lady. And do you go to the opera, too? My brother he has told me of the opera. How wonderful must that be! So beautiful--more beautiful even it must be than Lylda's music. But never shall it be for me." She smiled sadly: "Never shall I be able to hear it." An eager contradiction sprang to the Very Young Man's lips, but the girl shook her head quietly. For several minutes they did not speak. The wind behind them blew the girl's long hair forward over her shoulders. A lock of it fell upon the Very Young Man's hand as it lay on the seat between them, and unseen he twisted it about his fingers. The wind against his neck felt warm and pleasant; the murmur of the water flowing past sounded low and sweet and soothing. Overhead the stars hung very big and bright. It was like sailing on a perfect night in his own world. He was very conscious of the girl's nearness now--conscious of the clinging softness of her hair about his fingers. And all at once he found himself softly quoting some half-forgotten lines: "If I were king, ah, love! If I were king What tributary nations I would bring To bow before your scepter and to swear Allegiance to your lips and eyes and hair." Aura's questioning glance of surprise brought him to himself. "That is so pretty--what is that?" she asked eagerly. "Never have I heard one speak like that before." "Why, that's poetry; haven't you ever heard any poetry?" The girl shook her head. "It's just like music--it sings. Do it again." The Very Young Man suddenly felt very self-conscious. "Do it again--please." She looked pleadingly up into his face and the Very Young Man went on: "Beneath your feet what treasures I would fling! The stars would be your pearls upon a string; The world a ruby for your finger-ring; And you could have the sun and moon to wear If I were king." The girl clapped her hands artlessly. "Oh, that is so pretty. Never did I know that words could sound like that. Say it some more, please." And the Very Young Man, sitting under the stars beside this beautiful little creature of another world, searched into his memory and for her who never before had known that words could rhyme, opened up the realm of poetry. CHAPTER XXXI THE PALACE OF ORLOG