“What is it for, Roseanne?”

“To get away from the world, silly. And now—there’s a look about you. When I was a little girl, my father was a great man, and many great men used to come to our house. I know what the frown of power is and the attitude of greatness. You have them—much more than any pompous old magnate I ever laid eyes on. The way you touch things and handle them, the way you square your shoulders. Sometimes I think you’re not real at all and just an imaginary knight come to storm my castle. And sometimes I think you’re a very famous man whose afternoon walk just has been extended for a few months. The first thought frightens me, and the second makes me wonder why I haven’t seen your picture in the Sunday rotogravures.”

Hugo’s shoulders shook. “Poor Princess Roseanne. And what do I think about you, then—”

She held up her hand. “Don’t tell me, Hugo. I should be sad. After all, my life—”

“May be what it does not appear to be.”

She took a brittle pine twig and dug in the mould of the needles until it broke. “Ralph—was different once. He was a chemist. Then—the war came. And he was there and a shell—”

“Ah,” Hugo said. “And you loved him before?”

“I had promised him before. But it changed him so. And it’s hard.”

“The carpet,” he answered gently. “The carpet—”

“I almost dropped off, and then I’d have been hurt, wouldn’t I?”

“A favour for a favour. I’m not a great man, but I hope to be one. I have something that I think is a talent. Let it go at that. The letters come from my father and mother—in Colorado.”

“I’ve never seen Colorado.”

“It’s big—”

“Like the nursery of the Titans, I think,” she said softly, and Hugo shuddered. The instinct had been too true.

Her eyes were suddenly stormy. “I feel old enough to mother you, Hugo. And yet, since you came, I’ve been a little bit in love with you. It doesn’t matter, does it?”

“I think—I know—”

“Sit closer to me then, Hugo.”

The sun had passed the zenith before they spoke connectedly again. “Time for the magic carpet to come to earth,” she said gaily.

“Is it?”

“Don’t be masculine any longer—and don’t be rudely possessive. Of course it is. Aren’t you hungry?”

“I was hungry—” he began moodily.

“All off at earth. Come on. Button me. Am I a sight?”

“I disregard the bait.”

“You’re being funny. Come. No—wait. We’ve forgotten the orchids. I wonder if I really came for orchids. Should you be terribly offended if I said I thought I did?”

“Extravagantly offended.”