“Oh! you are cruel,” she exclaimed. “You want to take him from me; I know you do! He promised—to marry me—before you came. He must marry me! I dare not go home!”
“I can assure you,” Helène said quietly, “that I have not the faintest desire to take Lord Wolfenden from you—or from any one else! I do not like this conversation at all, and I do not intend to continue it. Perhaps if you have nothing more to say you will go to your room, or if you wish to go away I will order a carriage for you. Please make up your mind quickly.”
Miss Merton sprang up and walked towards the door. Her pretty face was distorted with anger.
“I do not want your carriage,” she said. “I am leaving the house, but I will walk.”
“Just as you choose, if you only go,” Helène murmured.
She was already at the door, but she turned back.
“I can’t help it!” she exclaimed. “I’ve got to ask you a question. Has Lord Wolfenden asked you to marry him?”
Helène was disgusted, but she was not hard-hearted. The girl was evidently distressed—it never occurred to her that she might not be in earnest. She herself could not understand such a lack of self-respect. A single gleam of pity mingled with her contempt.
“I am not at liberty to answer your question,” she said coldly, “as it concerns Lord Wolfenden as well as myself. But I have no objection to telling you this. I am the Princess Helène of Bourbon, and I am betrothed to my cousin, Prince Henri of Ortrens! So you see that I am not likely to marry Lord Wolfenden! Now, please, go away at once!”