Densham laughed—not very easily. His disappointment was great, but his interest was stimulated.
“At any rate,” he said, “the girl is harmless. She cannot have left school a year.”
“A year with that man,” she answered, bitterly, “is a liberal education in corruption. Don’t misunderstand me. I have no personal grievance against him. We have never come together, thank God! But there were stories—I cannot remember them now—I do not wish to remember them, but the impression they made still remains. If a little of what people said about him is true he is a prince of wickedness.”
“The girl herself——?”
“I know nothing of,” she admitted.
Densham determined upon a bold stroke.
“Look here,” he said, “do me this favour—you shall never regret it. You and the Princess are intimate, I know: order your carriage and go and see her this afternoon. Ask her what she knows about that girl. Get her to tell you everything. Then let me know. Don’t ask me to explain just now—simply remember that we are old friends and that I ask you to do this thing for me.”
She rang the bell.
“My victoria at once,” she told the servant. Then she turned to Densham. “I will do exactly what you ask,” she said. “You can come with me and wait while I see the Princess—if she is at home. You see I am doing for you what I would do for no one else in the world. Don’t trouble about thanking me now. Do you mind waiting while I get my things on? I shall only be a minute or two.”