"Why did you not tell me this before—at the Mordaunt Rooms, for instance?" she asked.
"You came upon me like a thunderclap," the Archduchess answered quickly. "For years we had lost all trace of you. Besides, there were reasons—you know that there were reasons why I might surely have been forgiven for hesitating. But let that go. We had better have your story blazoned out once more to the world than that you should live your life in this hole-and-corner fashion. I shall take you back to Waldenburg. I presume, sir!" she added, turning suddenly towards me, "that even you will not question my right to assume the guardianship of my own niece?"
The memory of Feurgéres' look came to my aid, or I scarcely know how I should have answered her.
"Your Highness," I said, "it is for Isobel to decide. She is no longer a child. Only I would remind you that you have on more than one occasion endeavoured to assume that guardianship without mentioning any such relationship."
"You know Isobel's history," the Archduchess answered. "Can you wonder that I was anxious to avoid all publicity?"
"Your Highness," I said, "we do not know Isobel's history—yet. We shall hear it to-night."
"He has not told you—yet?" she asked incredulously.
"He is coming to my rooms to-night," I answered.
"You shall hear it before then," she exclaimed, with a little laugh. "Put on your hat, child. We will drive to my house, you and I and Mr. Greatson, and I will tell you everything. You will know then how greatly that man insulted you by daring to allow you to occupy this box, to approach you at all."
"Madame," Isobel said, "I thank you, but I wish to hear the end of the play. And as for my history, Monsieur Feurgéres has promised to tell it to Mr. Greatson to-night."