Of love, as the average American understood it—mutual trust, mutual respect, common interests, fidelity, placid affection—nothing at all; but there would be bursts of passion, shattering experiences, and if she were strong enough to survive being cast down from the heights from time to time, she might win through, might in the end even hold him. At least she might find such a life more interesting than the placidity of the meadows. There was always that choice in life between emotion and tranquillity, and Selden had never been able to make up his mind which was the wiser.
To be a queen—even an unhappy one—even of a tiny kingdom....
But what of Madame Ghita? Did she know of this? Was that why they had met her driving toward Nice? Did she intend to interfere?
And was it conceivable that any man would leave a woman like that?
Probably the prince had no intention of leaving her—and again Selden glowed with indignation. But he was conscious, deep down in his heart, that his indignation was not so much for the girl at his side as for that other woman, about to be deserted, or, worse still, compelled to share....
He awoke abruptly to the knowledge that Miss Davis was addressing him.
“You have been there quite recently, have you not, Mr. Selden?”
“Oh, yes,” he answered, guessing instinctively where she meant. “Only a couple of months ago.”
“Are the people happy?”
“Yes, in a way. Of course life is very hard among those bleak mountains. But then it has always been. They are used to it.”