he might be joked about was unbearable. And besides he loved Sally. Perhaps, as Carew had said, he loved her more intensely when she flew from him and he had to follow.
Her hand hung over the back of the king's chair. He bent his head and kissed it. "Your wish is my law, Sally."
She slid down from the chair and knelt beside him. "Neale, do you mean, I am to do as I please?"
"Yes. If you'd rather be an October than a June bride, it is for you to decide. And while you are there, I'll run over to Paris."
"Neale, you're a darling."
His smile glittered, "Am I?"
"Yes. I'm afraid I'm not always nice to you. But I mean to be."
Kneeling beside him at the foot of the king's chair, she was like a pretty child. His aesthetic taste was satisfied. He was glad he had pleased her. He must give her her head a little. But in the end she would obey the bit.
He took her presently to the hotel, where she and her mother stayed when they were in town, then he went back to his own big house and to the art gallery where he had left his jades. When he had locked them up, he sat for a long time in the king's chair which faced the Chinese lady. With his icy glitter he belonged to the chair as Sally in her scarlet hat had not belonged. His thin, pale hands hung over the arms as one sees them in the pictures of royalty. They needed only lace ruffles and heavy rings.
As he gazed at the Chinese lady with the long white
