I tried to see her face, but it was half turned away from me. Her voice, however, reminded me a little of Isobel's.
"Yes," I admitted slowly. "You see, she was under our care for some time, and we all grew very fond of her."
"But you—you especially, I mean," she went on. "Do not be afraid of me, Mr. Greatson. I know that my mother is very angry with you, and has tried to take Isobel away, but if I were she I would not come. I think that she must be very much happier as she is."
"I—I am too old," I said slowly, "to dare to be fond of anyone—in that way."
"How foolish!" she murmured. "Do you know, Mr. Greatson, that I am only eighteen, and that I am betrothed to the King of Saxonia. He is over forty, very short, and he has horrid turned-up black moustaches. He is willing to marry me because I am to have a great fortune, and my mother is willing for me to marry him because I shall be a Queen. But that is not happiness, is it?"
"I am afraid not," I answered.
"Mr. Greatson," she continued, "I feel that I can talk to you like this because I have read your books. I like the heroes so much, and of course I like the stories too. I think that Isobel is very wise not to want to come back to Waldenburg. I wish that I were free as she is, and had not to do things because I am a Princess. And I am sure that she is very fond of you."
"Princess——" I began.
She stopped me.
"If you knew how I hated that word!" she murmured. "I may never see you again, you know, after this evening, so it really does not matter—but would you mind calling me Adelaide?"