"I know--I was detestable. I can't think how I could. But, you see, I was disappointed. I meant to arrange for you to meet me at some very pretty place and I was going to have a very pretty luncheon. I'd thought it all out . . . and it was exactly the same as yours, almost, only I shouldn't have known the name of the quite-perfect wine and, then . . . there you were, you know, and I hadn't been able to make things nice for you." "Was that really all, my Princess?" "Yes, that was all." "But still I don't understand why everything was suddenly all right." "It was what you said. That made everything all right." "What I said?" "You see, I meant it all to be as pretty as I could make it, and I'd got a new dress, very, very pretty, and a new hat . . . and then you came upon me, suddenly, in this old rag and last year's hat and scarf I only wore because aunty gave them to me. And I felt caught, and defrauded, and . . . and dowdy." "Oh, Princess!" "And then you said . . . you said you liked my dress . . . so, then, it did not matter." It was then that he lifted her hand to hold it against his face as once before he had held it, and silence wrapped them around once more--a lovely silence, adorned with the rustle of leaves and grass and the skylark's passionate song. XX THE END THE memory of luncheon died away and the picnic-basket, again appealed to, yielded tea. They had explored the towers, and talked of Kenilworth, the underground passages, and talked of the round tower of Wales. And half their talk was, "Do you remember?" and, "Have you forgotten?" The early days of the incredible honeymoon had been days of exploration, each seeking to discover the secrets of that unknown land, each other's mind and soul; this day of reunion was one gladly given over to the contemplation of the memories they had together amassed. It was a day dedicated to the counting of those treasures of memory which they now held in common, treasures among which this golden day itself would, all too soon, have to be laid aside to be, for each of them, forever, the chief jewel of that priceless treasury. It was when they were repacking the picnic-basket that they first noticed how the color had gone out of the grass, that was their carpet, and how the blue had faded from the sky, that was their roof. The day had changed its mind, after all. Having been lovely in its youth and glorious in its prime, it had, in its declining hours, fallen a prey to the grayest melancholy and was now very sorry for itself indeed. "Oh dear!" said she, "I do believe it's going to rain." Even as she spoke the first big tears of the dejected day fell on the lid of the teapot. "We must hurry," he said, briskly. "I can't have my princess getting wet through and catching cold in her royal head. Run for it, Princess! Run to the big gateway!"