"That's the question," said Mrs. Trott, reflectively resting both hands on the table. "I could see Mr. Max didn't want to talk, but we hear considerable through the housekeeper at the Manor. This young man that they say Miss Connie's tokened to is the son of one of these princes. But his mother was an Englishwoman and a Protestant and so when two boys had been baptized as Catholics, the third son,—Miss Connie's young man,—was brought up in his mother's faith, our English church.
"I suppose," Mrs. Trott went on meditatively, "they thought he'd never succeed to his father's title and position, bein' the third son. But the oldest, Prince Santo-Ponte, or some title like that, was killed in a motor mishap—they say he was racin' something shameful,—and soon the next brother died of pneumonia. So that leaves the Protestant son the heir. And the story is that he's to be made to turn Catholic."
"But they can't make him if he won't," protested the shocked Edith.
Both she and Frances were listening eagerly to this romantic story.
Their wildest flights of imagination concerning Miss Connie fell short
of the truth,—if this was truth.
"I don't know, Miss, I don't know," said Mrs. Trott doubtfully. "Turn the young leddy's boots, Bess,—don't ye scent the smell o' scorchin'? 'Tis hard on the poor fellow. There's his father urgin' him to do it for the sake of the family, and there's a title and a great fortune waitin' when he does. They'll be tellin' him it's his duty as they tell't the Princess Alix, own granddaughter of Queen Victoria, when she married with the Czar of all the Russias. 'Twas the Greek church she went over to."
"But will Miss Connie marry the prince if he does give up his own church?" asked Edith eagerly.
Again Mrs. Trott shook her head. "There's no mention of any weddin'," she admitted, "and it may be they're not even tokened, but the prince has been visitin' a sight of times at the Manor. Now, I'm thinkin' it's a good sign Mr. Max is here again. The Colonel, Miss Connie's father, loves him like a son. Why, he and Miss Connie grew up together, brother and sister-wise. The way of it was that Mr. Max's mother died when he was but a tiny and Mrs. Lisle, Miss Connie's mother, about took him for her own. He's fair lived with them. Many's the time he and Miss Connie have run in here for their tea or to dry their feet. You see I was parlor-maid at the Manor before I married Trott. That was when Mr. Eichard was living Miss Connie's brother. He was near fifteen years older and he died in South Africa, poor lad! Ah, when he was killed it nigh broke the Colonel's heart. Well, I've often helped out at the Manor when extra service was needed. Far rather would I see Miss Connie wedded to Mr. Max."
"But how did Miss Connie happen to know the prince?" asked Frances.
"In Rome. Till her mother died, they spent part of every winter there, but the Colonel can't bear the place now and they stop here the season. I keep hopin' Mr. Max will get her yet. Such a pretty well-mannered boy he always was and never above passin' a friendly word with us all.
"I suppose," Mrs. Trott concluded, "when you come to think of it, Mr. Max is a foreigner, too, but the best I can say is that he's just like an honest English gentleman."
Frances flushed, choking back a hot comment. She had so quickly felt a bond of kinship with this young American. Yet, in spite of her momentary anger, she realized that Mrs. Trott was paying the highest compliment in her power. Well, pride in her own country could teach Frances to value like loyalty in another.