"I tell you it isn't impossible," she exclaimed. "It can't be impossible, when it's the only way left to save our dignity. We mustn't let our enemies have the first move. You meant to make a sort of dramatic revelation, sooner or later. Well, it must be sooner, that is all, my dear."
"Ah, I meant—I meant!" echoed Sylvia, the sound of a sob in her voice. "Nothing has happened as I meant, mother. You were right; I was wrong. We ought never to have come to Rhaetia."
The Grand Duchess's heart gave a thump. If Sylvia were thus ready to admit herself in the wrong, without a struggle, then matters must indeed have reached an alarming pass. Not a jest; not a single 192 flippancy! The poor lady was seriously distressed.
"Not—come—to—Rhaetia?" she repeated as incredulously as if she had not herself lately made the same assertion. "Why—why—what——"
"I scarcely know how to tell you," said Sylvia, with lowered lashes. "But I suppose I must."
"Of course you must. I thought you looked upset. You were with him——in the music-room. Yes; I remember. Did you try to explain, and he—was it as I feared, only this evening before dinner? Wouldn't he forgive the decep——"
"He knows nothing about it."
"Well, what then? Don't keep me in suspense. I've had enough to try me without that." And the Grand Duchess raised a little jewelled vinaigrette to her nostrils. It had been given her by Queen Victoria, and was particularly supporting in a time of trial.
Sylvia's lips were so dry that she found difficulty in articulating. There were some things it was extremely embarrassing to tell one's mother.
"We—went out into the garden—to see the moon—or something," she 193 managed to begin. "He asked me to be—his wife. Oh—wait, wait, please! Don't say anything yet! I didn't know what to make of it, and—he had to explain. He put it as inoffensively as he could, but—oh! mother, I—I was only good enough to be his morganatic wife!"