“Is this going to be serious?” he asked, with some slight disquietude.
“Serious but wonderful,” she murmured, lifting her eyes to his. “Will you please listen to me, Leopold?”
She was half curled up in a corner of the settee, her head resting slightly upon her long fingers, her brown eyes steadily fixed upon her companion. There was an atmosphere about her of serious yet of tender things. Dominey's face seemed to fall into more rigid lines as he realised the appeal of her eyes.
“Leopold,” she began, “I left this country a few weeks ago, feeling that you were a brute, determined never to see you again, half inclined to expose you before I went as an impostor and a charlatan. Germany means little to me, and a patriotism which took no account of human obligations left me absolutely unresponsive. I meant to go home and never to return to London. My heart was bruised, and I was very unhappy.”
She paused, but her companion made no sign. She paused for so long, however, that speech became necessary.
“You are speaking, Princess,” he said calmly, “to one who is not present. My name is no longer Leopold.”
She laughed at him with a curious mixture of tenderness and bitterness.
“My friend,” she continued, “I am terrified to think, besides your name, how much of humanity you have lost in your new identity. To proceed it suited my convenience to remain for a few days in Berlin, and I was therefore compelled to present myself at Potsdam. There I received a great surprise. Wilhelm spoke to me of you, and though, alas! my heart is still bruised, he helped me to understand.”
“Is this wise?” he asked a little desperately.
She ignored his words.