"You don't like noise and excitement, Princess?"
She shook her imperial head with the gesture of an angry queen.
"I like nothing but rest. To be in a hammock with a cigarette and to hear the wind bend the palms, the surf break on the shores. It is my heaven. But in Hungary—no palms, no surf. Ach!" She made a face.
"You are different to Mademoiselle Olga here," said Ware, smiling.
"Quite different," cried Olga, with a gay laugh. "But I am like my father. He is a bold hunter and rider. Ah, if I had only been born a man! I love the saddle and the gun. No wonder I got away from the dull Society life of Vienna, where women are slaves."
"I like being a slave, if rest is slavery," murmured her mother.
"Would not your father let you ride and shoot, Mademoiselle Olga?"
"Ah yes, in a measure. But he is an Austrian of the old school. He does not believe in a woman being independent. My mother, who is obedient and good, is the wife he loves."
"The Prince has been very kind to me. He does not trouble me."
"He wouldn't let the air blow too roughly on you, mother," said Olga, with a scornful laugh. "He is a descendant of those Magyars who had Circassian slaves, and adores them as playthings. I am different."