"Rumor, then, has lied,
and she is but an every-day woman, after all?"
"Beauty has a double origin," answered Athelwold; "it lies partly in the
face seen, partly in the eyes seeing. Some might go mad over this
Elfrida, but to my taste London affords fairer faces. I speak but for
myself. Should you see her you might think differently."
Athelwold had managed his story shrewdly; the king's ardor grew cold.
"If the matter stands thus, he that wants her may have her," said Edgar.
"The diamond that fails to show its lustre in all candles is not the gem
for my wearing. Confess, Athelwold, you are trying to overpaint this
woman; you found only an ordinary face."
"I saw nothing in it extraordinary," answered the faithless envoy. "Some
might, perhaps. I can only speak for myself. As I take it, Elfrida's
noble birth and her father's wealth, which will come to her as sole
heiress, have had their share in painting this rose. The woman may have
beauty enough for a countess; hardly enough for a queen."
"Then you should have wooed and won her yourself," said Edgar, laughing.
"Such a faintly-praised charmer is not for me. I leave her for a
lower-born lover."
Several days passed. Athelwold had succeeded in his purpose; the king
had evidently been cured of his fancy for Elfrida.
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