“Go on, dear,” I said; “tell me what it is that troubles you?” This time I saw the tears drop, as she lowered her head and hid her face from me.
“I’m afraid I have deceived you, Aunt Janet, and that you will not—cannot—forgive me.”
“Lord save you, child!” I said, “there’s nothing that you could do that I could not and would not forgive. Not that you would ever do anything base, for that is the only thing that is hard to forgive. Tell me now what troubles you.”
She looked up in my eyes fearlessly, this time with only the signs of tears that had been, and said proudly:
“Nothing base, Aunt Janet. My father’s daughter would not willingly be base. I do not think she could. Moreover, had I ever done anything base I should not be here, for—for—I should never have been Rupert’s wife!”
“Then what is it? Tell your old Aunt Janet, dearie.” She answered me with another question:
“Aunt Janet, do you know who I am, and how I first met Rupert?”
“You are the Voivodin Teuta Vissarion—the daughter of the Voivode—Or, rather, you were; you are now Mrs. Rupert Sent Leger. For he is still an Englishman, and a good subject of our noble King.”
“Yes, Aunt Janet,” she said, “I am that, and proud to be it—prouder than I would be were I my namesake, who was Queen in the old days. But how and where did I see Rupert first?” I did not know, and frankly told her so. So she answered her question herself:
“I saw him first in his own room at night.” I knew in my heart that in whatever she did had been nothing wrong, so I sat silent waiting for her to go on: