He owned to himself that in all his travels he had seen nothing like the imperial loveliness of this dark-eyed girl.
"Does it please you to find me what you call beautiful ?" she asked, shyly.
"Of course it does.

I am very proud of you--proud to be known as the cousin of Philippa L'Estrange." Nothing more! Had he nothing more than this to be proud of?
Was he so blind that he could not see love in the girl's face--so deaf that he could not hear it in the modulations of her musical voice?
She bent her beautiful face nearer him.
"We were always good friends, Norman," she said, simply, "you and I ?" "Yes, we were like brother and sister," he responded, "How we quarreled and made friends! Do you remember ?" "Yes--but we were not like brother and sister, Norman.

We did not call each other by such names in those days, did we ?" "I never could find names pretty enough for you," he replied laughingly.
She raised her eyes suddenly to his.
"You cared for me a great deal in those days, Norman," she said, gently.
"Tell me the truth--in your travels have you ever met any one for whom you care more ?" He was perfectly calm and unembarrassed.
"No, cousin, I have not.

As I told you before, I have really made no friends abroad for whom I care much--a few pleasant acquaintances, nothing more." "Then I am content," she said.
But he was deaf to the passionate music of her voice.

Then the distance between them seemed to grow less.