"That is the reason I am so miserable. His point of view is hateful. I want to go away—to go away at once."
Her earnest emphasis forced conviction. She really meant it. This was no girlish whim, to be repented in a few hours, a lovers' quarrel, to be made up to-morrow. The Grand Duchess's kindly face, already deeply 196 clouded, was utterly obscured in gloom. The small features seemed lost behind their expression of distress.
"But surely you will tell him the truth, or let me, and give him a chance to—to speak again? Now, more than ever——"
"What good would it do? Everything is spoiled. Of course, if he knew I were Sylvia of Eltzburg-Neuwald, he would be sorry for what had happened, even if he thought I had brought it all on myself. But that would be too late to mend anything. Don't you see, don't you understand, that I valued his love because it was given to me, just me, not the Princess? If he said, 'Now that I know you are Sylvia, I can have the pleasure of offering my right, instead of my left hand to you, as my wife, and everything can be very pleasant and regular,' I should not care for that at all. No, we must go home, mother; and the Emperor Maximilian of Rhaetia must be informed that Sylvia of Eltzburg-Neuwald has decided not to marry. That will be our one revenge—the only one we can have—that little slap in the face to 197 His Imperial Majesty; so pitiful a slap, since he will never know that Princess Sylvia who won't marry him, and Miss de Courcy who can't, are one and the same. But, mother, I did love him—I did love him so!"
"Then forget and forgive—and be happy, while you can."
"I can't. I've just told you why. Oh, do let us make our plans to get out of this hateful house as soon as possible."
The Grand Duchess resigned herself to the inevitable, and only a deep sigh told the tale of the effort resignation cost her. For once she was expected to take the initiative, and the responsibility was a stimulant; this one consolation was left her.
"Well," she said, after a moment's abstruse reflection, "the telegram will give us an excuse. I was so overcome on reading it that I had to sit down again after getting suddenly up from my chair and borrow the Baroness's smelling-salts—poor, inadequate Rhaetian stuff. Every one was alarmed, and I explained, without going into particulars, that I 198 had received most disturbing news from England. Directly I felt more like myself, I came upstairs, requesting that you should be sent to me, when you returned—though you were not to be specially called. I begged the Baroness not to be anxious, but she said that, before she went to bed, I really must allow her to stop at the door and inquire how I was. We might say to her that the telegram had compelled our immediate return to England."
"Listen," whispered Sylvia. "There's someone at the door now."
She sprang to her feet, and, with the marvellous facility for meeting a conventional emergency possessed by all women in palace or tenement, between the time of rising and walking to the door, she had conquered the disorder of her countenance. Her hair was smoothed back into perfection; the laces on her dress had fallen into their original old graceful lines; her face, though flushed, would show no sign of tears in the softly shaded light.