"Just what I said, dear lady. Anna Heves and Philip Imrey are two young hotheads who have given us an infinity of trouble. For a long time we could not find out how certain pernicious articles, injurious to the good reputation of Roumania, found their way into the English and American press. Now we know."
"Your spy system seems more efficient than your censorship," Rosemary retorted bitterly.
"That is beside the point."
"Yes; the point is that those two are mere children."
"I dare say the judges will take that into account, and deal leniently with them."
"With them?" Rosemary exclaimed, and suddenly a new terror gripped her heart. "With them? You don't mean——?"
"What, dear lady?" he queried suavely.
"That Anna——?"
"Anna Heves, yes; the late Baron Heves' daughter, now a saleswoman in the shop of Balog the grocer. I often wondered how she came to demean herself in that way. Now I understand."
"But surely, surely," Rosemary protested, striving in vain to steady her voice, which was quaking with this new, this terrible anxiety, "you have not arrested Anna Heves? The child has done nothing——"