“It’s very strange that you’ve never married,” she retorted.  She was striding freely by his side, confident in her power to resist sentiment with mockery.

“Will you be my wife?” he asked abruptly.  She caught her breath before laughing tolerantly, and then looked into his eyes with a tantalising ingenuousness.

“By no means,” she responded.  “I am not oppressed by the same views that actuated Miss Pelham.  You see, Mr. Chase, I am quite confident that we are not to die in two weeks.”

“I could almost wish that we could die in that time,” he said.

“How very diabolical!”

“It may seem odd to you, but I’d rather see you dead than married to Prince Karl.”  She was silent.  He went on:  “Would you consent to be my wife if you felt in your heart that we should never leave this island?”

“You are talking nonsense,” she said lightly.

“Perhaps.  But would you?” he insisted.

“I think I shall go in, Mr. Chase,” she said with a warning shake of her head.

“Don’t, please!  I’m not asking you to marry me if we should leave the island.  You must give me credit for that,” he argued whimsically.

“Ah, I see,” she said, apparently very much relieved.  “You want me only with the understanding that death should be quite close at hand to relieve you.  And if I were to become your wife, here and now, and we should be taken from this dreadful place—­what then?”

“You probably would have to go through a long and miserable career as plain Goodwife Chase,” he explained.

“If it will make you any happier,” she said, with a smile in which there lurked a touch of mischievous triumph, “I can say that I might consent to marry you if I were not so positive that I will leave the island soon.  You seem to forget that my uncle’s yacht is to call here, even though your cruisers will not.”

“I’ll risk even that,” he maintained stoutly.

She stopped suddenly, her hand upon his arm.

“Do you really love me?” she demanded earnestly.

“With all my soul, I swear to you,” he replied, staggered by the abrupt change in her manner.

“Then don’t make it any harder for me,” she said.  “You know that I could not do what you ask.  Please, please be fair with me.  I—­I can’t even jest about it.  It is too much to ask of me,” she went on with a strange firmness in her voice.  “It would require centuries to make me forget that I am a princess, just as centuries were taken up in creating me what I am.  I am no better than you, dear, but—­but—­you understand?” She said it so pleadingly, so hopelessly that he understood what it was that she could not say to him.  “We seldom if ever marry the men whom God has made for us to love.”

He lifted her hands to his breast and held them there.  “If you will just go on loving me, I’ll some day make you forget you’re a princess.”  She smiled and shook her head.  Her hair gleamed red and bronze in the kindly light; a soft perfume came up to his nostrils.