Winter came, and with it the snow, which buried the little Thuringian castle in its white mantle. The monotony of her life palled more and more on her since she was now deprived of her walks. Occasionally a letter from Mr. Tyler and Anna would come as a ray of sunshine.
One never-to-be-forgotten day she received a box which, when she opened it, she found filled her chamber with the delicious scent of flowers. They were orchids of the purest white, sent by Morton. “Heartiest good wishes to you on your birthday. May you see many, many more in health and happiness.” The words were inscribed on his card. She had not realized that this was the last day in November, and that she was now twenty. That morning at the levée she attracted the curious glances of the women by the lovely orchids she wore at her breast. Not a few whispered malicious insinuations to each other.
Helène had but few opportunities of meeting her friend, the Princess. When she did she found her very unhappy. The poor girl had been made to feel her equivocal position at the Court, where she was treated as though she had come there uninvited. She had no means of her own, and this compelled her to be dependent on the good-will of people who, though royal in blood, were very mean in spirit, especially where money was concerned. There is no king so pompous as the kinglet, and as a consequence he attracts to him the effete and the provincial in mind—men who will cringe and fawn and flatter, and women whose only enjoyment is in gossip and slander. It was from the latter especially that the Princess suffered—and Helène also.
With the coming of December came preparations for the Christmas festivities. The Court was all agog, Helène excited with the rest. She had a better opportunity to know the “noble ladies” now. In mixing with them she occasionally caught whispers about “Americans,” and people who sacrificed their pride of descent on the altar of money. And she would notice that they cast side glances at her as they spoke. She did not altogether comprehend the meaning of their attitude, but she realized vaguely that she had become a persona non grata with these high-born tatlers, and, as a consequence, her unhappiness increased. She thought of her bank account. Perhaps these women had found out about it! Surely, it had been her father’s money that Mr. Tyler had brought her! The half question brought a doubt. Had Mr. Morton sent it? How absurd! And yet—yet—he was so generous. She would speak with the Princess about it.
The two girls talked it over and even went into calculations, in their simple way, as to the cost of the expedition Morton had undertaken. They were forced to the conclusion that Morton must have borne that himself; nay, that it was to his generosity they owed the very clothes they wore. Now they understood the dark references to “Americans” and money. Helène determined to find out the truth by writing to Mr. Tyler.
The reply she received did not clear the matter. Mr. Tyler thought she was making a mountain out of a mole-hill. She had far better leave well alone. So far as he knew, the moneys he had brought her came from her father. It could not be otherwise since they were drawn out of the Banca Nationale, where they had been deposited in Count Rondell’s name. He expected Mr. Morton’s arrival early next month, and no doubt he would call on her. He advised her to forget the matter until then.
Helène was torn by doubt, and humiliated in her pride. She did not know what to do nor where to turn.