"Certainly," he answered. "You have not had a fair chance—probably you have never been allowed to do a single thing of your own accord—have you?"
"N—no," said Stella.
"In the beginning, were you engaged to this good clergyman of your own wish?" and his eyes searched her face.
She stiffened immediately, the training of years took offense, and she answered rather stiffly:
"I do not think you have the right to ask me such a question, Count
Roumovski."
He was entirely unabashed—he stroked his pointed silky beard for a moment, then he said calmly:
"Yes—I have, you agreed that I should teach you how to shape your life as you pleased, you must remember. It is rather essential that I should know the truth of this matter before I can go further—you must see that."
"We can avoid the subject."
"It would be Hamlet without Hamlet, then," he smiled. "One could draw up no scheme of rules and exercises, unless one has some idea of how far the individual was responsible for the present state of things. If it was your wish in the beginning, or if you were coerced makes all the difference."
Stella was silent—only she nervously plucked an offending rose which grew upon a bush beside them: she pulled its petals off and kept her eyes lowered, and Sasha Roumovski smiled a wise smile.