"That depends." Her mother laughed nervously, with a stifled and mysterious delight. "Guess again—but no, I won't tease you. After this letter, coming as it has in the midst of our conversation, I shall be a firm believer in telepathy. It is too wonderful. He may be going to be married; he may not. For, my dear, dear child, he wants—to marry you."
Sylvia sprang to her feet. Perhaps such exhibition of feeling on the part of a Royal maiden decorously sued (by proxy) for her hand, was hardly correct. But Sylvia thought of no such considerations. She did not even know that she had left her chair. For a moment a delicate blue haze floated between her eyes and the Grand Duchess's pleased, plump face.
"He—wants—to—marry—me?" she echoed dazedly.
"Yes, you, my darling. Providence must have drawn your inclination toward him. It is really a romance. Some day, no doubt, it will be told to the world in history."
Sylvia did not hear. She stood quite still, her hands clasped before 17 her, the letter she had been reading on the grass at her feet.
"Did he—the Emperor—tell this to Fritz and ask him to write to you?" she questioned.
"Not—not exactly that, dear," admitted the Grand Duchess, her face changing; for Sylvia was so exacting and held such peculiar ideas, that it was sometimes rather difficult to know how she would receive the most ordinary announcements.
The rapt expression faded from Sylvia's features, like the passing of dawn.
"Not—exactly that?" she repeated. "Then what—how?"
"Perhaps—though it is not strictly the correct thing—you had better read Fritz's letter?"