Americans -- England -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction; Millionaires -- Fiction
‘Perhaps I was dreaming,’ she admitted. ‘How foolish!’
‘You were over-tired,’ he said, still unconsciously holding her hand.
They gazed at each other. She smiled at him.
‘You kissed me,’ she said suddenly, and he blushed red and stood up
before her. ‘Why did you kiss me?’
‘Ah! Miss Racksole,’ he murmured, hurrying the words out. ‘Forgive me.
It is unforgivable, but forgive me. I was overpowered by my feelings. I
did not know what I was doing.’
‘Why did you kiss me?’ she repeated.
‘Because--Nella! I love you. I have no right to say it.’
‘Why have you no right to say it?’
‘If Eugen dies, I shall owe a duty to Posen--I shall be its ruler.’
‘Well!’ she said calmly, with an adorable confidence. ‘Papa is worth
forty millions. Would you not abdicate?’
‘Ah!’ he gave a low cry. ‘Will you force me to say these things? I could
not shirk my duty to Posen, and the reigning Prince of Posen can only
marry a Princess.’
‘But Prince Eugen will live,’ she said positively, ‘and if he lives--’
‘Then I shall be free. I would renounce all my rights to make you mine,
if--if--’
‘If what, Prince?’
‘If you would deign to accept my hand.’
‘Am I, then, rich enough?’
‘Nella!’ He bent down to her.
Then there was a crash of breaking glass. Aribert went to the window and
opened it. In the starlit gloom he could see that a ladder had been
raised against the back of the house. He thought he heard footsteps at
the end of the garden.
‘It was Jules,’ he exclaimed to Nella, and without another word rushed
upstairs to the attic. The attic was empty. Miss Spencer had
mysteriously vanished.
Chapter Nineteen ROYALTY AT THE GRAND BABYLON
THE Royal apartments at the Grand Babylon are famous in the world of
hotels, and indeed elsewhere, as being, in their own way, unsurpassed.
Some of the palaces of Germany, and in particular those of the mad
Ludwig of Bavaria, may possess rooms and saloons which outshine them in
gorgeous luxury and the mere wild fairy-like extravagance of wealth; but
there is nothing, anywhere, even on Eighth Avenue, New York, which can
fairly be called more complete, more perfect, more enticing, or--not
least important--more comfortable.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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