He stopped in front of the sea-gulls. "I got a ring for you at Warwick," he said, "only I didn't dare to ask you to take it. Will you take it now? The other one was the symbol of something you didn't mean. Let this one stand for--whatever you will." Without a word she held out her hand, so he set the diamond and crystal above the golden circlet. "I am a fairy princess," she said then. "No one but a fairy princess ever had such a ring as this. Thank you, my Prince." With the word, planted on the hour like a flag, they went on. The dining-room was paneled with beech, gray and polished. In the middle a round table spread with silver and glass, white lawn and white roses, shone like a great wedding-cake. "Do you mind," he said, as he set the chair for her--"do you mind if we make it another picnic and wait on ourselves? My old nurse was anxious to get back to her babies--she's got five of them--so I ran her down in the car." "She lives in the village, then? I thought she lived here." "I thought the five children might be rather too much for you, especially when you're so tired." "But I'm not," she said, "and oh, what a pretty supper!" The curtains were drawn, wax candles shone from Sheffield-plated candlesticks on table and mantelpiece and gleamed reflected in china and silver and the glass of pictures and bookcases. A little mellow fire burned on the hearth. "What a darling room!" she said, "and how all the things fit it, every single thing, exactly right. They couldn't go any other way, possibly." "You told me they would," he said, "at Warwick. I remember you told me they would fit in if one only loved them and gave them the chance. I drink to you, Princess; and I know sparkling wine is extravagant; but to-day isn't every day, and it's only Moselle, which is not nearly so expensive as champagne, and much nicer." Raising their glasses, they toasted each other. "But I thought," she said, presently--"I thought--there were to be no concealments." "No more there are." "But this isn't. . . . Isn't this. . . . Surely that's the bookcase you bought at Warwick--and these chairs and those candlesticks." "I own it, Princess; I would scorn to deceive you." "Then this is _your_ house?" "It is; just that." "Only that? Is there nothing else that it is? Wasn't it once my house, for a very little while? Wasn't it here that you left me, that night when I ran away and I met Mr. Schultz? . . . No, I forgot. . . . Of course I didn't meet any one. . . . I mean when you came after me and found me at Tunbridge Wells. Oh! Suppose you hadn't found me!" "How am I to suppose the impossible? You couldn't be in the same world with me and I not find you. Yes, you are right, as always; this is the house. Did you ever try bananas with chicken? Do! They rhyme perfectly." "Don't seek to put me off with bananas. Was the house yours when you brought me here?"